


Fools Rush In

by geniusincombatboots



Series: A Lady's Guide to Arranged Marriages [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Contrived Conflict, Eomer and Lothiriel share a brain cell, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Miscommunication, Political Alliances, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 122,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: Eomer King is married to Princess Lothiriel to signify and strengthen his country's alliance with Gondor, and hopes that given time they will come to love each other. For her part, Lothiriel has all but given up hope of a loving marriage in favor of survival. When a marriage is made of two fools who fail to communicate, what follows can only be chaos.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Series: A Lady's Guide to Arranged Marriages [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032663
Comments: 180
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another Eothiriel fic, because they're my favorites. I love these kids, and the way that I've written them so far. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are deeply appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!

There had certainly been worse matches made, and that served as her sole consolation in her forthcoming nuptials. Lothiriel knew the bridegroom in passing, having met him twice and having become friendly enough with his sister that perhaps it would be an agreeable marriage if they were anything alike.

And yet against those calming thoughts, the reality of the fact stared her in the face whenever she considered it. The reality of it was that a man who had lately come to take the throne of her country had likely seen the benefits of a marriage between his new country and their northern neighbors, and she felt herself given as a reward to the king of Rohan for his country’s aid in the war.

She was the niece of the late steward, and until his death had been a member of his household. To her eyes it seemed a tidy way to ensure that she would make no trouble for her father or the king, and would not be able to stay in Minas Tirith, or even in Gondor to voice her opinion that they had been without a king as long as they had, and that to her mind there was no true reason to have one now.

Eomer King had been polite to her, and she held the quiet hope that he would remain so through their marriage, as if her hopes had ever been enough to sustain her. She had hoped for a good marriage, and this was one, on paper at least. She had once hoped for romance and courtship, but there had been little enough of that in her life, so that hope was as fool hardy as any other. Marriages for a lady of her standing were made of deals, and families, not of affections, and she had made her peace with that, as well as she could, trying to ignore that voice in her mind that told her that hope was not dead, and that perhaps she would find some happiness.

But, it hardly mattered what she had hoped for. In a few days, she would be passed from her father’s hands to another man’s, who was only slightly more a stranger to her. She would be a wife and queen and do her duties to the best of her abilities no matter what it was that she wanted.

Her uncle never would have stood for this, eager as he had been to get her married and settled into a good household. He had known her well enough to know that she was well placed where she had been. But now she was being uprooted from her entire life and being moved to a country that she had never seen to marry a man who had only become king by the bizarre twists of fate.

In her heart she knew it was a punishment for her sharp tongue, and for her loyalty to the late Steward of Gondor. The new King of Gondor didn’t want her stirring up trouble for him, any more than her father did, she guessed, though no one had stated it as such. And so, she would be made a gift to the Rohirrim for their part in the war against the Enemy in Mordor, another spoil of war to be taken.

One night, while sitting by her brother’s wife, a woman she knew as well as the rest of her family, which was to say not as well as she should, Lothiriel took a deep breath, knowing that she had questions to ask, but not in truth wanting to do so. She wondered what it was to be a wife, and if Lady Gadrien would tell her the secrets of wifehood, but her own pride held her tongue. There was no reason to share her concerns with her brother’s wife, or with anyone else. They would only assure her that she had no cause for concern and say nothing of facts to prove their point. They would tell her than her husband-to-be was a man of honor, that he was a soldier of renown, that he was her father’s friend, and they would expect those things to be enough for her.

She would be a good queen, and she would mind her thoughts as well as she could, a losing battle, but one that would need to be won if she wished to keep her station. She knew little enough of the customs of her new country, and she wondered if there was such a custom for casting aside disobedient wives.

She stared ahead of her, reminding herself not to look back. Queens did not look back, nor did they show fear, or dismay. A Queen could not be seen to wallow in her own misery.

0x0x0

The roof of the Hall of Meduseld glinted like gold as they approached, and Lothiriel did her best to take stock of the city that would be her new home. She would live in a hall of wood rather than the palaces of stone that she had always known and wondered if it was a drafty house.

Autumn was coming on, and she had never felt a truly cold winter as they had here. It was another fear that she had not considered until the first chilly morning had come as they traveled.

Lothiriel took in every sight that she could as she rode through the city, trying to familiarize herself, in the quick glimpses she took, with the layout of the settlements and roads. The crowds did little to make this easy, as it seemed that every person that lived in Edoras had poured out into the streets.

As they reined their horses to stop, she pulled her veil back over her face from where she had worn it as she rode, needing to see better than the thin fabric and the wind would jointly allow. She reminded herself was not some common woman that could be gawked at like a beast of burden. It was important that she make a good impression, and that she make the impression that she was a woman of modesty and standing.

In Gondor, a lady covered her face when leaving any house, but looking about the city, the people cheering at their arrival, this did not seem to be the custom. The common married women wore their hair covered in different fashions with homespun fabrics, and the ladies and women of means wore finer fabrics in the same fashion. It seemed that unmarried women wore their hair free, making golden banners of varying hues in the wind that came up from the plains.

Her brother, Erchirion, held his hands up to her, to help her dismount her horse, a quick and reassuring smile on his face. She accepted the help as much as it galled her.

“It will be well, sister,” he cupped her hand under his, folding her hand over his arm.

“What if I do not like him?” she asked, in Sindarin, aware from the corner of her eye that the King approached their group to greet them, to welcome them in his city, and his country.

“He is a good man,” Erchirion replied in kind, smiling gently, “and if you have any trouble, write to me, and I shall knock some sense into his good head.”

Lothiriel clicked her tongue at him, not certain she should put any stock in her brother’s promise. She had lived apart from her family for years, but if she was to call upon any of them, it would have been her father’s second son. He had always been fond of her in his own teasing way. She pinched at her brother’s arm as he led her to meet her future husband.

King Eomer stood embracing his sister, and he beamed at her petting her cheek and commenting on how she glowed with happiness. He was not bad looking, if he had a mind to smile it seemed. He looked at Lothiriel in her veil, the smile shrinking to a fraction of its size, and a curious look coming into his eyes as he peered at her.

Her anxiety twisted her stomach into knots, but she did her best to hide it, thankful for the veil she hid behind. No, she did not hide, Princesses and Queens did not hide. She was simply protecting her modesty, as was right.

As the dark eyes of the king turned on her, they were not unkind as such, but they inspected her through the thin silk of her veil.

“You will of course, my lord, remember my daughter, Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, soon to be of Rohan,” her father, Prince Imrahil said, his tone jovial as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course, I did not recognize you,” Eomer smirked a hesitant smile that asked her for something. His voice was deep, and a bit flat, “I must beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

She dropped into a low curtsy, as graceful as she could manage. She was not certain what he meant by his words, or by his smile. “Your Majesty.”

The smile shifted a little and she wondered if she had offended, if he had meant to make some jest at her. King Eomer’s head tilted a little before he nodded, “You are most welcome here. We have had houses made ready for your use.”

She looked at him, and did her best to smile at him, and he seemed to soften a little, but that might be a trick of her partially obscured vision.

“I will leave you to make yourselves comfortable,” King Eomer said, the Princess of Ithilien, Lady Eowyn coming to stand beside him, and taking his arm with a sisterly affection. “When you are ready, we have refreshments made ready for you.” He bowed his head and left them.

It was a strange and abrupt departure that seemed to bode ill to no one besides Lothiriel.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, you are most kind,” Lothiriel said, trying so sound happy to be in Edoras. It would be her home, and she should do her best to like it.

An older woman, to call her stately would have been an understatement, smiled at Lothiriel, looking rather intrigued by the princess before checking herself and curtsying, “I am Lady Baldgwyn. My house is at your use, my lords and my ladies,” she gestured to a large and sturdy house and Lothiriel fought back the thought that it looked rather like a barn. It was not a charitable thought, and such things would not do at present.

Her handmaid followed after her, a Rohirric woman close to Lothiriel’s age named Heohild. Lothiriel had asked Lady Eowyn to send word to have a handmaid brought from the Riddermark, as she did not want to bring her maid from Minas Tirith. She had never been particularly close with Anthel, her maid before Heohild, and Heohild had been sent with King Eomer’s assurance that she was a good and honest woman. It had seemed a good idea to have someone to give her an education, admittedly brief though it was, in the ways of her new country.

Heohild had proved a good worker, and she had been friendly enough, and had taught Lothiriel a little of Rohan, the Riddermark. She was to be of this country, and she should know how to be Queen here, whether she wanted to be one or not.

“I would like to offer you any help that you might need in these early days,” Lady Baldgwyn said, smiling at Lothiriel.

“In what ways?” Lothiriel asked, her voice low and dulcet, as befitted a well-bred young lady.

“In any way you might need,” Lady Baldgwyn curtsied again, raising her voice in the entry way of her house, “If there is anything that our guests need, you have but to ask. My servants are yours while you stay here.” She curtsied again and left her house.

Lothiriel watched the door closed with some confusion, wondering where the lady meant to live for the week that her family was here.

Lothiriel would live at Meduseld after tomorrow, after her wedding. She wondered what her accommodations would be, if she would share a room with her husband, or if she would have her own room as she had through her entire life, and that he would visit her there before returning to his own bed.

In truth, she was not certain which was preferred.

She removed her veil in the privacy of the house and noticed the rolled eyes from her families, and handed it to Heohild with a smile, “Thank you, I would like some water heated that I may wash the dirt from my hands and face.”

Heohild curtsied, “Yes, my lady.” The blonde maid left her side so quietly. Lothiriel wondered if her footfalls made any noise at all, if it was a skill that she had learned or it she came by it naturally.

“You need not hide your face here, daughter,” Imrahil said, settling into a chair, he shifted his weight a moment before deciding that he was comfortable. “I do not think it is their way.”

“You will be their Queen, sister, I should think you would take their ways on,” Amrothos said, a teasing glint in his eyes, “Perhaps you will learn to use a sword and love it better than all your fine frocks.”

“I will change my ways, when I have the crown on my head,” Lothiriel said, too sweetly. Her smile softened at Elphir’s chuckle.

“Such an ambitious lady,” Elphir shook his head, peering around the house. “You might be careful to keep that ambition hidden.”

“I am to be crowned a Queen tomorrow, I think there is likely no higher status for me to seek,” Lothiriel said, looking over the room, “Do we know how many beds there are here? Or are we all to sleep on the floor?”

“There should be beds aplenty,” Imrahil said, smiling at his daughter, “and you would do well to mind your manners.”

“Consider them closely minded, my lord father,” Lothiriel made her face innocent, “I should hate to upset the plans that you and our king have made.”

“King Eomer is a good man,” Amrothos said, reiterating a sentiment that had been pushed at her for months with no further explanation or evidence, “and he likes you. If you do not cross him, there is no reason not to find a good marriage.”

“As you have said, more times than I am able to count,” Lothiriel said, “I am weary from travel, and I should make myself presentable.”

She opened a few doors, trying to discern which room was hers by the trunks that had been brought in before their arrival. Finding herself housed in a smaller room, she sat on the edge of the bed, and found it at least comfortable. Her room was smaller than the others, likely for the simple reason that she would only be sleeping in it for one night. She lay back, staring at the ceiling over her head, tears finally coming too late to do her any good.

There was a gentle knock on the door before Heohild entered, with a basin and pitcher of water. “My lady, are you well?”

“Well enough,” Lothiriel smiled at her maid, as she wiped her eyes, “I am only being a fool.”

Heohild set the water and basin on a sideboard by the window and looked at her mistress, trying to read whether her interference would be accepted. “My lady, to be anxious before a wedding is nothing to be ashamed of?”

“I am not anxious. I am angry,” Lothiriel admitted finally.

“Does Eomer King not please you, my lady?”

“I do not know him to be pleased,” she crossed her arms, “But you speak truly, I am simply anxious, and I should not be so. I have heard that your king is a good man, and I am certain that I will find him so, having come to know him.”

Heohild nodded, resting her hand on Lothiriel’s shoulder and smiling conspiratorially, “And if you come to know him and find that you do not like him, then we will find some way to help with that.”

“I am certain that I should scold you for such brazen speech… but I am curious.”

“I have heard that he still fears the cook-woman that runs his kitchen. She boxed his ears once as a child and he has never overcome the fear of her fury,” Heohild giggled.

“You know much of him, then?” Lothiriel looked at her maid, surprised by her words, which for their whimsy seemed untrue. It was the sort of amusing court gossip that was passed about so that one might laugh at a ruler.

“Only pieces of gossip, in truth,” Heohild had a fellow that she liked, and he was a stableboy for the king, and Lothiriel thought that was likely how King Eomer had found her in the first place. “It is said that he likes strong women, and you have strength enough.”

“Strength enough?” Lothiriel chuckled, feeling a little better. “What a glowing affirmation.”

Heohild chuckled, “Come and wash, my lady.”

Lothiriel stood and pushed her sleeves up past her elbows to wash her hands and her face. She knew that she should rejoin her family, and she knew that she should do her best to be polite to her future husband and his men. They had not given her any reason to act otherwise.

0x0x0

That evening came early, the chill of the early autumn air promised what Eomer’s advisors had predicted, that it would be a hard winter. The King’s Stores had been counted carefully in each of their holdings through the country to ensure that if it came to it, they would have enough to feed his people.

It would be a lie if he said that Princess Lothiriel’s dowry would not be a help. If she agreed, the money would be put into rebuilding the farms of the Westfold. He had agreed to accept a dowry with the understanding that as he saw it, that money was hers, and that she would be asked before it was spent. The Gondorian lords had smiled politely at the request, but clearly thought it a silly, and youthful declaration to make.

He intended to be a good husband to the princess and thought that they seemed well matched for such an arranged marriage. She was clever and seemed more than willing to speak her mind. The fact that she was a beauty did not hurt either.

He did not quite say aloud that he liked her. They had not in truth spent much time together, and he did feel a level of anxiety over the fact that he would the next day be wedding to a woman that he hardly knew, but the few times they had spoken, he had been left with a pressing desire to speak to her further. He had heard her offer scathing commentary on the opinions of others in the occasion that she had disagreed with them and had a respect for the fire in her.

That she had agreed to the match had pleased him more than he should think to admit, not wanting to be teased by the claims that would come that the young king was infatuated, as he was of the opinion that he was too old for the unbidden fluttering in his chest. It was a concern that he knew was not unfounded, and that the embarrassment of it was not a thing he wished to battle.

“Are you excited?” Eowyn asked, teasingly.

Marriage suited his sister, and he would be the first to admit it. She seemed genuinely happy for the first time in years, and he reminded himself to thank Faramir for… for what? Being a decent fellow? Eomer was not as gifted with expressing himself as others, and he was distinctly aware of the fact.

“In a way,” Eomer smiled, gesturing for his sister to help herself to the decanter of mead, an offer that she had accepted without him having made it, “though I am nervous.”

“Then you are fit to match your bride, I would dare say.”

“Truly?”

Eowyn all but rolled her eyes at him, drinking deeply.

“I should not think that the indominable princess would be nervous about anything,” Eomer admitted.

“She has said little on the forthcoming nuptials, which is the only reason I have to guess that she is nervous,” Eowyn said, thinking out the best way to say what she thought.

Arranged marriages were not as common in the Riddermark as they were in Gondor, and Lothiriel had likely assumed that hers would be such a marriage, but the little that Eowyn knew of the matter, having asked Princess Lothiriel and received short answers, left Eowyn all but certain that any assent that Lothiriel had given was out of duty, or certainty that the marriage would be done whether she agreed to it or not. Faramir had told Eowyn that he thought it was a good match, but that someone ought to warn Eomer of this, having ascertained that Eomer was in some small way fond of Lothiriel. For her part, Lothiriel said nothing, but seemed to be filled with a cold and distant rage the whole journey from Minas Tirith.

“Are you well?” Eomer asked, noticing the set of his sister’s brow, and the look that came into her eyes.

“I am, but I am trying to work out the best way to say what I am thinking.”

“You might just come out and say it. I know you are by marriage a Princess of Gondor, but you needn’t take on the long-winded and flowery speeches that seem common in that land.”

Eowyn chuckled, “I would simply advise you to have care.”

“In what regard?”

She looked at him as if she was stopping herself from telling him that he was the greatest fool that she had ever encountered, “The princess is silent on her thoughts of the marriage, and I would simply have you know that perhaps she has some reservations.”

Eomer laughed, “Fear not, sister. She has agreed to marry me. I do not expect that in doing so we will suddenly know each other, and I expect that it might take some time.”

“Patience is not a virtue that you have ever quite been able to claim as your own.”

“In actions, and general, I will give you that, but in the matter of wooing a lady, I might know a little more by experience than you do,” Eomer smirked at his sister’s annoyed face, and chuckled.

Eowyn stared at her brother for a moment, debating if she should point out the fallacy of his thinking, but decided that it might be better to just let him think that it would be as simple as he assumed. It had been on the tip of her tongue to explain the differences in the women that he had wooed in the past, and the woman that was going to be his wife from yesterday onward.

From what she had seen, Lothiriel had been raised on courtly flirtations and was proficient in that skill but knew little of men beyond that. Eowyn tried to remember if Lothiriel had flirted with Eomer in the way that women of the Gondorian courts did, artfully and without any meaning, but could not quite call the memory of any such interaction to her mind. “You spoke with her tonight?”

“I did,” Eomer nodded. Lothiriel had sat next to him at the evening meal in the chair that would be hers, and she had thankfully pulled the veil back from her face, saving him from blundering through another joke about it. Had she worn it, Eomer had intended to ask how he was meant to know that Imrahil had brought the right lady to be his wife. Thinking on it, he took it as a blessing that he had not had the opportunity to make such a joke.

“How did you find her?”

“She seemed well, if nervous, now that you mention it, and I understand. She is leaving her life behind, and I intend to be considerate of that,” Eomer said, wanting to assure his sister that he was not as great a fool as she seemed to think. “And given time, I think we will become comfortable with each other.”

“Do you think that she might come to love you?” It was more of a direct question than she had intended to ask, but she had asked it.

“I hope so,” Eomer smiled, wanting to get himself on more stable ground, and out from under his sister and her impertinent questions, “She is a fine lady, and will be a good queen.”

“That I will give you,” Eowyn smiled, “I am sorry for pressing you so. It seems strange to me that you are to be married.”

“I know,” he smiled and raised his cup to her, “To marriage.”

She returned the salute, “To marriage, may yours be as happy as mine.”

He was certain it would be. Love would come in time, if they both treated each other with kindness and respect, and he had no intention but to treat her with anything but kindness and respect.

0x0x0

Lothiriel sat as Heohild took the pins from her hair with careful fingers, the princess rubbed an ointment into her hands, thinking over the next day and all that would come with it.

“Did you enjoy your supper, my lady?” Heohild asked, noting the tension in Lothiriel’s shoulders.

“I did rather, though it seems they have nothing to flavor the food but salt.”

“No, my lady,” Heohild chuckled, “I hope it does not displease you too terribly. You might see if your family could send you some spices for your kitchen.”

“I think I will do that now that you mention it,” Lothiriel said with a small smile, “The King seemed to be in good spirits.” She almost said that he had smiled at her, in a gentle way rather than the self-conscious smile that he had given her upon her arrival. That smile for a moment made the whole of the situation not seem as dire as it had before. It was such a foolish thing to place one’s hopes on, a smile, it was a fleeting moment that could be feigned by social pressure or awkwardness, but it had made her wonder if he would not be kind to her in some fashion.

Try as she had to dismiss it, the idea of the Rohirrim as a large gang of barbaric warriors had tainted her feelings on being their Queen. She would be Queen, and she would do so to the best of her ability, fulfilling her obligations as she had through her whole life. The idea of the Rohirrim as grim faced and blood thirsty had not been helped by the stoic appearance that their new king presented, nor by the tales of valor that her brothers had told her over and over again.

Her family were not the only guests that had come for the wedding, and it was a sort of solidifying thing to experience, seeing those guests. Her future husband had friends from across his own country and beyond it. Many of the guests she recognized from Minas Tirith, though she did not know them personally. There was an Elvish Prince and a Dwarvish one as well as the High King Elessar and his Queen. They would take the word of her marriage, and send it through their kingdoms, she knew, and she did her best to be polite and seem pleased with her match, deciding that it would do her reputation better than collapsing into a fit over being given away like a handkerchief.

From the time that Lothiriel was sixteen she had lived almost exclusively in her Uncle Denethor’s household and had come to love him as if he was her own father. She had come to love him more than her own father, point of fact, feeling rather as if she had been castoff from her family to another branch of it for convenience. During the war, her father had written her, and had asked her to abandon Minas Tirith and flee, but she had disregarded the missive, burning the letter, and staying in the citadel until the civilians were evacuated from the forthcoming battle at the Pelennor Fields.

After her uncle had died, she had drunk too much in an attempt to match the jolliness of the survivors and had kept up that joviality as a shield against her own grief. She knew that her uncle had not been a perfect man, but the defamations that seemed to swirl about the city after his death made her grief all the harder to cope with. Her father, her aunt, and her brothers seemed to believe every vile word and would hear no explanation when Lothiriel attempted to give them. Her cousin Faramir kept quiet on the topic and had not said a word in his father’s defense.

Perhaps this wedding, and this marriage would not be so horrible, and perhaps the king might come to some sort of fondness for her. She had long ago given up on the poetic notions of romantic love, and a marriage made by such emotions. Those sorts of marriages were for common people, or for such rare cases as Faramir and the Lady Eowyn. There had been the idea floated that Lothiriel might do well to marry her older cousin Boromir, but it had never been fully decided before his death. That marriage, too, had come with a fair number of hesitations, but at least she had known Boromir, and loved him, admittedly as a brother, but still.

King Eomer was at least closer to her own age, and was not unpleasing to the eye, if that eye managed to catch him in a smile. The hard countenance that he regularly showed made her fear him, though she would never admit it. She did not want a hard and fierce husband. She had always hoped that she would marry someone like Boromir, a man who knew his duty, and treated war with the deference that it was due, but who did not forget to smile.

Lothiriel rubbed some of the ointment into her face and neck with slow circling fingers, trying to assure herself that everything was going to be alright. Many arranged marriages turned out to be happy ones, and if she could put her mind to it, she might be able to make a happy marriage of her own.

“Will there be anything else you need, my lady?” Heohild asked, picking up a few things from about the borrowed room as Lothiriel climbed into the bed.

“No, thank you,” Lothiriel smiled, and picked up her book, meaning to read for a while, and try to calm her mind. She had made a decision to make peace with the marriage and did not need her mind wandering or making her question her decision.

She read by candlelight, the only sounds in the room being that of the fire crackling and the pages turning. Books were such a firm part of her life, that she had brought as many of them with her as she had been able to. If there were not enough shelves, she would have some made, if her husband let her.

It suddenly occurred to her that she might not do this again for some time. She had never asked if she was to have her own room, or not, and if she shared a bed with her future husband, she would then need to be respectful of his need for undisturbed sleep.

She slammed her book closed, and stared ahead of her, too aware of her breathing. She could not remember the last time she had shared a bed with anyone. She would have been a small child. Yes, she had gone running to Boromir when she was little and afraid and had slept next to him, not wanting to wake her governess or her reed cane with her night terrors.

Staring up at the ceiling, the weight of every change that her life would have crushed down on her, and she tried to breath through it, reminding herself that she could not control her circumstances, but she could control herself.

She was a princess and she was going to be a queen, and no one would stop her, especially not herself.


	2. Chapter 2

There were a few differences in the way that weddings were done in Rohan, and Lothiriel had done her best to be prepared for that, and not make a mess of the ceremony in her nervousness. She had brought a sword to present to King Eomer as a gift, as it seemed important that she do so, and that she show that she understood the culture in her new country.

In Gondor, for example, it was common for the friends of a bride to help her prepare for the wedding. It was less common for them to bathe her and scrub her skin until the bride was certain that she would have none left on her when she dressed.

Heohild seemed to relish in her task and was scrubbing at Lothiriel’s back with such fervor that for the first time Lothiriel wondered if the maid had been secretly hired to torment her.

“I am quite clean, I think,” Lothiriel called, folding her hands over her chest as Lady Eowyn’s comb hit a snag in Lothiriel’s hair.

“You can never be too clean,” Lady Eowyn replied, and her smile was only a little mischievous.

Lothiriel wondered if this was to be a common occurrence, or if it was only done for weddings. She knew that the people of Rohan bathed rather frequently and had considered that to mean luxurious soaking, but she was not certain that she liked this idea of washing with so many people about her.

She had never been entirely comfortable with her own body, always feeling too short, that her breasts were too small, and thighs were a bit too wide. Even in the company of other women, being naked was not her idea of a pleasant time any more than being locked in a cabinet.

Lady Baldgwyn stood by, not helping Lothiriel’s unease, warming a drying towel on the hearth, and blessedly looking at Lothiriel’s body little.

“Are you dreadfully nervous?” Elphir’s wife, Gadrien asked, grinning.

“Why should I be?” Lothiriel asked, not wanting to admit that she was.

“Whyever should a bride be nervous?” Gadrien grinned, splashing some of the bathwater at Lothiriel. “Though, you should not be nervous. I heard your future husband may know a thing or two of women, I beg your pardon for saying so, Lady Eowyn.”

Lothiriel blushed, not sure where to look. It entered her mind to dunk her head under the water and drown herself to avoid talking of the marriage bed with her brother’s wife, or her husband-to-be’s sister, who would probably appreciate the distraction.

“Eomer is my brother and as such, I wish to hear no such conversation,” Lady Eowyn smiled over Lothiriel’s head, “but I will tell you that you should not be nervous or frightened in the least.” She smoothed her hand over Lothiriel’s wet hair for a moment before loosely braiding it, “You are quite clean enough, sister.” Eowyn smiled at her, gesturing Lady Baldgwyn over with the drying cloth.

Gadrien smiled, helping Lothiriel to her feet and whispering to her, “I shall want all the details, little sister.”

Lothiriel wrapped the cloth around herself a little quickly, wanting to hide herself as much as she could, and not wanting to feel the cool air, or the embarrassment of Gadrien’s overly familiar speech.

She had never seen snow before, but she would soon, if the chill in the air was any indicator. She would need warmer clothing than anything she owned.

She moved quickly to warm herself by the fire and dry as much as she could, trying to stop herself from thinking about the marriage bed. It had been a topic that she had tried her best not to think of since she had been told of the marriage. Going to bed with a man for the first time was already nerve wracking enough, but to do so with a man that she hardly knew was another. She hoped that her decision to believe that King Eomer would be kind to her was not the wrong one, and that he would not make a fool of her.

When she was warmed enough, Lothiriel put on the shift with Heohild’s help, feeling a little more comfortable. She pulled a dressing gown on and began slowly drying her hair, listening half-heartedly to the chattering of the ladies around her.

Heohild’s hand was warm on her shoulder, squeezing a little, and then that hand left and took the drying cloth from Lothiriel, and worked at her hair, drying and combing lilac oil into it.

Lothiriel picked at her cuticles nervously, wishing she had caught herself before she had started at it. “Is your brother a kind man?” Lothiriel asked.

Lady Eowyn looked a little startled by the question, “He is.”

Lothiriel nodded, not certain what else she should say to that, but watched quietly as Lady Eowyn came to join Heohild, combing and parting Lothiriel’s damp hair into sections.

“My brother is a kind man, but he can be a quiet one,” Lady Eowyn wished they would have had this conversation sooner than this but had never wanted to broach the topic. She liked the princess well enough but knew that she too oft hid behind a façade of disinterest. “It can take him some time to know a person well enough for him to feel comfortable enough to speak his mind.”

“How does one become comfortable around others without speaking, I wonder,” Lothiriel muttered.

“He is…” Eowyn almost said the truth, that her brother was shy, and that he feared being laughed at more than he feared death. “You will like him when you know him.”

Lothiriel glanced up at Eowyn, silently asking if the lady spoke the truth.

Eowyn smiled at her, for the first time too aware of how young Lothiriel was. “If you do not, tell him so.”

“I could never!”

“How else might you expect him to know?” Eowyn watched Lothiriel’s nervous fingers picking at the skin around her nails for a moment before she folded her hands. She looked around at the other ladies, cooing over the wedding dress, “Just speak truly, and openly.”

As if it was so easy as that. Lothiriel has spent her entire life speaking with veiled words, their meanings hidden deep beneath what was in truth said, but she knew that there was some part of what Eowyn said that was true. What if she said the wrong thing and angered her husband? For all of Eowyn’s assurance that the king was a kind man, Lothiriel had heard tell of his temper, and was not of a mind to be on the receiving end of that temper.

She wondered if a man could be fierce warrior and stop that part of himself once the battle was over. Everyone had congratulated her on her betrothal to a warrior of renown and a hero of the war, and she had graciously accepted it, but now she sat wondering if such temper and violence would be in her own rooms. Her own temper had on occasion been violent, and she knew how easy it was to lose control.

Lady Eowyn tugged playfully on a lock of Lothiriel’s hair and made a face at her. When Lothiriel smiled, Eowyn patted her cheek gently, “I will say little on the matter, but I do not think that you should fear my brother. I do not think he would ever mean to hurt you. And if he troubles you terribly, there is a spot here,” she prodded Lothiriel’s side, “That tickles him if you press it.”

Lothiriel smiled, feeling a little strange at the way the lady spoke to her. She glanced at her dress, Lady Baldgwyn looking over it with care. “Do you think it is too grand?” Lothiriel asked.

The dress was cream colored and stitched over with golden vines. The waist was cut high on the ribs and flowed out in wide skirts. The sleeves were the wide bell-sleeves that had been fashionable for years, and Lothiriel always felt certain that those sleeves were going to be caught on something and she was going to make a fool of herself.

“Not at all,” Eowyn smiled at her, “Your dress is lovely, and you will be a beautiful bride.”

0x0x0

The ceremony itself was quickly done, Eomer accepted the sword that he was offered with an appreciative look before handing her a ring of keys. Their hands were bound together, and their hands held up before the rings were slid onto their fingers. It was not as worth the nerves that she had given it, but what came next was, and she had not considered it as well as she should have done.

Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth knelt on a cushion in the middle of the dais and the diadem of her principality was taken from her head.

Prince Imrahil took the diadem from her brow with gentle hands, “Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, do you consent to so forsake your claim to our lands, for yourself and on behalf of any offspring bourn forth in perpetuity?”

Her assent was given in Rohirric, and she hoped that she had said the words correctly. The already quiet hall stilled further, and she tried to gauge the reaction of the court to her use of their language, hoping she had done right. She fixed her eyes at the back of the hall, keeping her gaze fixed so that she did not show fear or hesitance.

It was the longest moment of her life, kneeling there with no claim to a country or a family, and waiting for the affirmation that Eomer King would indeed take her as a queen as he had taken her as a wife.

The soft but somewhat harsh roll of Rohirric flowed from Eomer King as he announced that he was doing so, making Lothiriel the queen that she had been promised she would be. The circlet was cool on her brow as the king, her husband crowned her, and announced in his language that she was his right hand and helpmate.

Lothiriel had tried to learn some of the language in the brief period of her betrothal but had not made much progress. Lady Eowyn had told her what to expect of the wedding and crowning ceremony, and in that had told her what the words meant.

The hand that was held out to Lothiriel almost startled her as Eomer King offered it. She took it carefully and rose the Queen of Rohan, staring at a fixed point at the back of the hall, the point that she had focused as she tried not to faint. She raised her chin a fraction, giving the most serene look that she could muster.

There were calls and the sounds of fists pounding on tables at her presentation, and she wanted that affirmation, raucous and undignified as it was, to never end.

She sat at her husband’s right at table and felt a bit strange that she had a husband at all. There was a sudden need to speak to him, but she could not think of anything to say to him. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, and stopped short.

The king turned his head and looked at her, waiting, “My lady?”

“I had wondered,” Lothiriel said, slowly, hoping that by the time that she had said those three words that she would have something to follow it with, “what His Majesty did for amusement.”

“I ride, but that goes without saying,” Eomer’s features were softened, not quite a smile, but it was not the normal grim countenance that he showed the world, “in truth at present I have little time for anything that is not my work.”

She nodded, “I understand, my lord.”

His head tilted a little, “and what pastimes occupy my lady’s time?”

“The normal sort of things, needlepoint… I like to read.”

“For amusement?” he smirked.

“Yes, of course," she frowned at the question.

“I do not mean to offer offense, my lady,” Eomer said quickly, “I spend my days reading, but not the sort of things that would hold your interest. My days begin with reams of petitions and policies, and they never seem to end.”

“Should the running of your kingdom not interest me?” Lothiriel asked, doing her best not to be offended by the assumption.

“It seems rather tedious,” Eomer said, carefully, “though if you have an interest toward such things, I would only think it a benefit.”

She nodded, “I do take such interests. I like politics, and the works of governance.”

“I should hope so, your marriage has been quite helpful on the account of politics,” Eomer teased.

Lothiriel’s face fell a little as she did her best to return his smile, “Indeed.” She took a long drink of the honey wine that the Eorlingas favored and did her best not to let his words hurt her.

0x0x0

Her nerves about the wedding bed would not abate, nor the general strangeness that was her husband. The king seemed to be in good spirits, but he said things that she could not quite make sense of, certain that he meant to tease her, but it made her uncomfortable.

That discomfort and the nerves were compounded by her mind’s attempts to sort out what would happen between them. He was a large man, a little over a foot taller than she, and well-built from years of soldiering, and it was entirely possible that he would crush her.

With that thought in her mind, Lothiriel poured more mead down her throat than she likely should have. Being drunk always made her more affable, and perhaps it would make her wedding night less of a terror, and less painful.

The king seemed as keen to the cups as his bride, and the last Lothiriel had seen he had been speaking with a few of his countrymen and Elphir, the group of them laughing.

Lothiriel made her way to her husband’s side, still sober enough to speak, and to dance well, but feeling rather warmed through, and freed of her inhibitions. She curtsied to her husband and king, smiling at the quick bow that Eomer gave her as the men did, as if he had forgotten that he should. He was looking at her in a strange way, and it warmed her further.

“Would my lord do me the honor of a dance?” Lothiriel asked, offering her hand to him.

King Eomer’s face fell a fraction, “I do not dance, my lady,” he looked at his men, almost begging through his stern look that one of them volunteer themselves for the position and save him from the embarrassment of disappointing his new wife.

“Sister, I should like to dance with you,” Elphir smiled, before looking to Eomer, “if that is alright with your husband?”

“Of course,” Eomer smiled gently touching Lothiriel’s shoulder before he remembered himself, but he did not withdraw his touch.

Lothiriel curtsied again, and let her brother take her hand in his and lead her away. She glanced back at the king with a strange look that was an attempt to hide her disappointment. Dancing with hm was the only acceptable way that she might become comfortable with his presence as close to her as he would be in a few hours. It was a way to judge how he would handle her.

“Will you learn to dance to please the Queen?” Eothain asked, “Or will the King maintain his ornery distance from the dancing floor?”

“Hold your tongue,” Eomer smiled, “I meant to learn, but there have been too many deeds and duties to occupy me of late.”

“You meant to learn?” Eothain said, “Ah, I see.”

Eomer shook his head at his oldest friend, not wanting to entangle himself in the teasing that would come with such a conversation of this sort.

“The Queen is beautiful,” Elfhelm said, trying to cut the teasing talk short before their king blushed, but saw him color a little anyway.

“She is,” Eomer said, nodding. He watched her dance with her brother, her movements graceful and smooth as water. If he danced with her, he would look like a lumbering beast in comparison, and she might laugh at his clumsy movements behind his back, or even to his face.

He was under no illusion of what their marriage was, in truth. He knew that it was more of politics than heart, and he wished that his original request of courtship had been accepted, rather than the offer of marriage that he had received in reply. He should have been more forceful on the matter, but he liked her too much for the few times he had spoken to her.

He wondered if she saw through his attempts of humor, or knew how hard her was trying to amuse her. He knew that he lacked the training for courtly wit that she was accustomed to, but still he would try to make her laugh. If he could succeed in that, he could make her love him. He had almost succeeded as they sat at table, and he knew that there was hope in this.

He had wondered from time to time what her hair looked like unbound, and his mind turned to that again without his meaning to, and in thinking on it, realized that he would see it. Lothiriel was his wife now, and they would be sharing a bed tonight, and ever after if she had a mind to it.

Lothiriel’s lips, which were the fullest and most lovely that he could remember ever seeing, would be his to kiss, and he wondered if he was behaving badly in thinking about kissing her.

Watching Lothiriel dance, Eomer was oblivious to all around him, and to the quick knowing looks that his friends gave each other. They all knew that look in Eomer, but none, not even Eothain dared to say a word about what it was that they saw.

Erchirion smiled at his friend, before speaking in a quiet voice, “My lord, I know this is a request that I needn’t make, but I make it all the same.”

Eomer looked at the man, waiting to hear what would be said to him.

“Please be kind to my sister,” Erchirion’s smile was a little sad, “She has had enough pain in her life, and I would not have anyone adding their share.”

“I understand,” Eomer nodded, having made a similar request of Faramir.

“See that you do,” Erchirion smiled, clasping the King’s shoulder, "of I will come back here, and ensure you be better."

0x0x0

A few of the ladies of the court descended on Lothiriel, like a pack of wolves, to take her to her bed, to the king’s bed, and she did her best not to blush at the cheering as she retired from the hall and its festivities. It sounded too loud, and she kept her gaze fixed ahead of her with a bleary look that went unnoticed by her attendants as they congratulated her on her fine match to a fine man.

The ladies dragged her up to the rooms over the Great Hall and down a corridor to a large door and all but hauled her into the room before they left her in a fog of giggles and fine cloth, and Lothiriel stood at a loss for what to do for a moment until Heohild came to help her undress.

Heohild said little as she helped her lady dress for bed but hummed as she worked which comforted Lothiriel’s nerves a little, to the point that Lothiriel leaned back against Heohild before realizing that she was doing it.

She stood back up a little too quickly, but Heohild’s hands caught her shoulders gently, saving her from stumbling, “I am terribly sorry,” Lothiriel mumbled, “I seem to have taken too much mead.”

“You would hardly be the first woman to overindulge at her wedding,” Heohild patted her shoulders gently, “It will be alright, my lady.”

A part of Lothiriel’s mind wondered if the king would be displeased, but she thought it likely that he would not mind too terribly, as her drunken state would hardly hinder him.

Dressed in her nightgown, Lothiriel sat as her maid finished unbinding her hair, and she startled a little as the door opened and the King entered. Lothiriel stood slowly, her hand on her vanity for stability. She meant to curtsy, but looking at him, she found herself frozen in place.

“That will be all, mistress,” King Eomer said, nodding a little to the maid as she left.

Lothiriel went to sit on the edge of the bed, a feat for her short legs, but having managed it, she noticed how far her feet hung above the floor. She stared at her king and husband, her hands fidgeting with themselves as he unpinned his cloak from his shoulders and folded it over and set it on the back of a chair before turning his attention on her.

Eomer paused a moment, looking at the gentle way that she leaned, and felt a deep disappointment. He had intended to make it clear to her that she did not need to fear him, that if she did not wish to lay with him yet that he would understand. Perhaps she had misjudged the strength of the mead or had done It out of the nerves that seemed to come standard in virgin brides.

His shoulders fell a little as he looked at her, trying to smile, “my lady, it seems that you have been in the cups.”

“Only a little,” Lothiriel protested.

He nodded and went over to look at her a little closer.

There had been quite a few ways he had imagined this interaction, but this was not one of them. He had imagined her reticent and had decided that to sleep by her side would be an honor, or that if she wished he would sleep elsewhere. He had imagined her with open arms and sweet kisses, and all of the ways that he would please her. He had never been a man that enjoyed taking a drunk woman to bed, as it had always seemed wrong to him.

Lothiriel seemed so small, sitting in her nightgown on the edge of his bed, their bed, and he wondered if she feared him.

He reached out to touch her cheek and tried to not take offence in the small flinch she gave. Her golden-brown skin was soft under his fingers, and for the first time he noticed the faintest dusting of freckles over her nose and her cheeks. Her pale grey eyes stared critically back at him, as if waiting for him to act before she decided how to respond to him, but that gaze was a little unfocused, and he let out a low sigh.

“Let us get you tucked in, my dear,” he smiled gently at her.

“I have to braid my hair,” Lothiriel said through her confusion, slurring a little, “Or else it will be a mess in the morning.”

Her hair was already a bit wild looking, Eomer thought, smiling. Her curls were full and made him think of a cloud in a way that he would never be able to explain.

“I can manage it,” Eomer said, stopping her from climbing from the bed to fetch her maid back again, “Is there anything I can fetch you?”

“I would like some wine,” Lothiriel smirked, tilting her chin up at him.

“You need none,” Eomer laughed, “You might have some water, if that would be acceptable.”

She gestured for him to fetch it, and Eomer bowed, wondering if she knew who he was, or if her sight had been so obscured by the drink that she did not realize that she was ordering a king about.

He liked it, in a way, that she was not being overly deferential, and he decided that he could be quite used to this.

Giving her a cup of water and ensuring that she was not spilling it on the bed, Eomer climbed up behind her on the furs and coverlet and with a ribbon clenched between his teeth. He carefully parted her long hair into sections.

It was not how he had imagined his wedding night, but there was a sort of intimacy in it, and he had wanted to touch her hair. He had never braided hair quite as thick and tightly curled, but he examined his work when he was done, and thought that it did not look poorly done. He tied the ribbon at the end with a careful bow and adjusted it a little to be sure it was even. He thought a moment, before picking up her braided hair and kissing it.

Lothiriel looked back at him, her head tilting a little, “My lord…”

He pulled back to the covers for her, “Get some rest, my lady, Lothiriel. You have had a full day, and I know that you are weary.” He watched her climb a little clumsily under the covers and rested her head against the pillows as he covered her. He wanted to kiss her lips, and he wanted to pull her to himself, but he did neither, pressing a kiss to her brow and withdrew from any further caress or embrace while he still had the willpower to do so.

There was still banqueting in the hall, drinking and gaming, and for a moment Eomer considered rejoining the wedding feast, but knew that it would not reflect well on the new marriage if he did. He poured himself a cup of water and sipped on it by the fire, thinking to himself in the quiet night, now and then he looked back at his sleeping bride, and an unbidden smile came to his lips.

Her head might punish her for drinking so much, but besides his own disappointment, he would not hold it against her. When he considered it for more than a moment, there had been a nervous tremor about the princess… the queen, and he could understand her taking some comfort in drinks.

He would allay her fears in the morning if she felt well enough to speak. A woman should not fear her husband, and he would not have his wife fear him, even if it was wedding night nerves, and nothing else. He wondered how she had imagined this night, if she had, or if she had pushed the thought of such things far beyond herself.

He doubted that she had done that. He knew enough about women to know that they were as knowledgeable of their bodies as men were, and he had heard enough whispered giggling around Lothiriel, that she must have had some impression of what would happen between them.

He hoped her imagining was favorable, but he did not know her well enough to be afforded an answer to such a question, no matter how much he wanted to ask. She was maidenly and untouched, a point that had been made to him as a matter of pride for her family, and he wondered if she had ever been tempted, if she had ever loved anyone enough to think of damaging her reputation.

Eomer was not of the mind to hold such things against a lady, having not been with a virgin since he had been one. Things were different in the Mark, and he knew that there were things that he would need to explain, habits and misconceptions that he would need to break her of.


	3. Chapter 3

The clear morning light streamed in through the window, into the wide bedchamber and Lothiriel’s eyes slowly opened. For a moment, she was gripped by a panic at the strange room in which she found herself, and the strange bed. The evening before, as far as she could remember it filled her mind, as did her sudden shame. She wondered if she had acted indecorously, if she had dishonored her family and her new husband.

She heard his soft, snoring breath and sat up a little to look at him.

The King was a large man, a fact that had never escaped her notice, and he took up a good portion of the bed. He did not seem to be weighed down by anything as he slept, his face relaxed and peaceful in its composition.

She remembered hearing that a man satisfied in his bedmate would sleep well, and she wondered if that was the reason for his peaceful sleep. There was no pain or ache in her body, and she wondered if that was a lie that was told to maidens to frighten them, or if the King had been so gentle with there that there had been no pain. The latter seemed improbable, not because she thought he would actively harm her, but more because she had friends that were married and had said that they had a dull ache even after careful marital attentions.

A cursory glance under the covers, and under her hips showed no sign of maiden blood and she frowned a little, trying to think of what drunken offense she could have given her lord that he had not taken his marital rights.

Should she wake him, or let him sleep? She had no idea of what was acceptable or expected in this circumstance. She moved carefully, meaning to climb out of the bed, and to call for a servant to bring some food, but she froze as the King shifted and opened his eyes and looked at her.

For a moment, he held her in his focusing gaze as slept left him, but he was still a little groggy and his voice heavy with sleep as he spoke, “Good morning.” He lay back, breathing, and trying to rouse himself the rest of the way.

“Good morning, my lord,” she replied, “I will have some food brought, it that is alright.”

He murmured an agreement, rubbing at his eyes.

Having asked a servant in the corridor to bring something to the King’s apartment, she walked through the sitting room to rejoin him in the bedchamber, pulling her dressing gown closed around her as tightly as she could manage, her hands shaking a little as she looked at the stranger that she had married, and likely insulted. “My lord, I beg your pardon for my behavior last night.”

King Eomer looked at her for a moment, wondering what she imagined she had done, “There is no need,” he patted the bed beside her, “Come back to bed.”

She tilted her head a little looking at him, uncertain if she should, “My behavior was unbefitting a lady, I think.”

“You drank too much at a wedding feast,” Eomer’s chuckle sounded in part like a heavy rumble in his chest, “worse things have happened.” He took another breath and sat up against the headboard, his golden hair a bit of a mess that the hand he smoothed over it did not completely rectify.

She closed the door, so that any servant that came would not see them in such a state of casual undress before she came back to the bed and climbed gracelessly up onto it. The look she gave him asked the question that she could not quite ask.

“We only slept,” Eomer smiled gently at her.

“My lord, I am sorry if I have displeased you.”

“You have not,” Eomer said, trying to keep his eyes open, he squinted at her, “How is your head?”

“It is not my head that troubles me, but my pride.”

He reached out to her, and took her hand, and kissed it, “You were drunk, and I thought it better to let you sleep than to make love to you without your ability to refuse me.”

“My lord, I-”

“I would have you drop your proper use of honorifics when we are alone, especially when we are in bed.”

“What should I call you then?” Lothiriel asked, confused.

“I would have you call me by my name,” he smirked, “and I should like to call you by yours, if you would find it acceptable.”

“If you wish.”

His smirk softened into a warm smile, “Lothiriel,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

The touch was so gentle, and she felt suddenly as if she had taken a chill, her whole body prickling a little, a pleasant sensation, “I know my duty, my… Eomer,” she said, “and I know what is expected of me.”

He frowned a little at her words, “I would not have you feel pressured into coercion. You are a queen, and you are my wife. I would rather wait until you feel comfortable with me before we consummate our marriage than have you feel in anyway poorly about it.”

Lothiriel’s brow furrowed at him, “Your sentiments are sweet, and I am certain that you mean well by them, but if there was any word that we had not… er, that we had not consummated our marriage, then it would be seen as a failure on my part.”

“I do not see how it would be, nor do I see how it would be anyone else’s business what happens between a man and his wife.”

“Were you but a farmer, I should agree, but as you said at the banquet last night, our marriage is more political than personal,” her fingers picked at each other, “and I know that you have asked that my family not take the sheets, but there are servant who make the bed, and who will see one way or the other.”

Eomer nodded, studying his wife, “May I kiss you?”

The question startled her, “I am your wife, I do not think that you need to ask.”

“No, but as I said, I would like to have your willing assent on anything that happens between us.”

She almost reiterated her understanding of her duty but saw that speaking of duty had not made the point as she had hoped, “You may.”

She had been kissed before and was not as frightened of being kissed in the same way that the rest of her duties concerned her.

The King, Eomer moved closer to her in the bed, his hand finding her cheek with a gentle caress, guiding her toward him with the gentle inference of that touch. His kiss was gentle, his lips stroking at hers. He held her there against his lips for a long moment, his hand sliding down her neck. She felt the callouses on his fingers and chided herself for the gooseflesh that broke out over her body at the touch.

He pulled back and looked at her, his gaze a little heated, searching her eyes before he returned his lips to hers with the same careful attention. When he pulled back again, he smiled a little, his thumb stroking against her jaw, “You are so lovely.”

Lothiriel’s cheeks warmed under the compliment, not certain what to say to such words, said so earnestly. She looked down at her hands, “I am pleased that my lord finds me so.”

He chuckled again, turning her face up to make her look at him, “If you would consent, I…” he stroked the back of his fingers over her side of her neck, “But, if you wished to wait, and disregard your concerns of gossip, I would offer no protest.”

She weighed his words carefully before she spoke, “But the sun has already risen.”

“It has,” Eomer’s smile was wry, “and still I would make love to you, if you would have me. That choice is yours, and I will abide by your wishes.”

Her eyes widened a little. In the light of day there would be no hiding the flaws of her body, or any part of his body. They would see all of each other, and that made her nervous once again. But she was a married woman, and though his attempts to offer her some control over their actions were sweet, if she did not give herself to him, then there could well be a dispute over their marriage. Without consummation, he could decide to send her back to her father’s house and would be within his legal rights to do so. Where would the alliance be then?

“Alright, but I should like to have the curtains drawn,” she said after a moment of careful consideration.

He chuckled at her again and kissed the tip of her nose, “As my lady bids,” he smirked, looking at her again and kissed her hand before bounding eagerly from the bed to the window. He could hear her moving on the bed and hoped that she was undressing, and then chastised himself for thinking that.

He knew the room well enough to move in the dim light, and he could see well enough that he did not fear running into one of the bed posts and knocking himself unconscious in his excitement. He tried to rein his eagerness back in, reminding himself that his wife was young and a maiden and that if he did not act with care that he might frighten or harm her.

He cupped her face in his hands, looking at what little he could see of her, “If you wish me to stop, you have only to say,” he whispered into the slim space between them before dropping his lips back to hers, the first of a long string of kisses.

There was some hesitance in her, and her hands lay by her face on the pillow, but she reciprocated the kiss slowly, letting him guide her lips open after a moment. His tongue flicked against hers experimentally, seeming to show her what it was he wanted.

It was not as dark as she would have liked, but it was better at least that the bright light of morning. She had not removed her nightgown, and he traced a fingertip over the neck of her nightclothes, and over the skin there. Watching the shape of his shoulder, she wondered if she should put her hands on him in some way, but was not certain where, or if that was what her husband wanted.

He ran his hands over her body, and she could feel the warmth in those hands even through her nightgown, his lips pressing against her neck, and her throat. It was a pleasant feeling, but she felt warmth settling itself in her blood.

Her husband was cupping his hands over her curves, and she fought the urge to flinch away from that touch. His hands were gentle, but no one had ever touched her in this way, and she therefore did not know how to react. She could not see his face, and she thought that if she could, she might know what it was he expected of her.

One of his hands slid lower along her body, and squeezed at her hip, and as it did, he let out a murmur that seemed to be approval. If that was a sound of approval, then perhaps he would not dislike her body.

Lothiriel sat up carefully, and pulled her nightgown over her head, crossing her arms a little over her chest as she sat in front of him. She could see him vaguely, kneeling in front of her, scanning her over carefully, and she tried not to feel like a prize animal in the marketplace.

His hand was gentle on her wrists, pulling her arms away from her, and she didn’t struggle against his hands.

She looked away, but could still feel him, looking at her, appraising what he could see of her.

The back of his fingers stroked against the small curve of one of her breasts, making every hair on her body stand on end. A finger slid over the nipple slowly, and her eyes slid shut. He was pressing kisses over her chest as his hands began their wandering again.

She lay back, certain he would get to it soon. She kept her eyes closed, preparing herself, and more certain that he was going to press into her as his hands caressed her thighs.

There was fear, but for a reason she could not think of, she trusted him, this man, this stranger that she had married.

His fingers touched that place that she had kept secret, and she opened her eyes, staring up at him, wondering why he was toying with her so. Perhaps she had misjudged him and was only doing his best to see every part of her and claim every piece or he wished to make her uncomfortable by pawing at his new possession and making it clear that as his wife she belonged to him.

His hazel eyes were dark, and there was something almost dangerous in that look. It should not have thrilled her, but it did.

That touch, which had started slow, and had begun to quicken, seemed to awaken something in her, and she did not know what she might call it. There was some sweet tightening in her body, and her back arched up against his chest, and her thighs tightening at him. Her body reacting without her telling it to. That tightening in her body grew and became all consuming, and she could not think or control herself. There was an animalistic cry coming out of her, and if she had been in her right mind, she would have stopped herself, or felt ashamed of her behavior.

When the King withdrew his hand from her sex, Lothiriel’s eyes opened and she stared up at him, panting a little. She felt too warm, but she had no clothing to remove to rectify it, and only a sudden hunger for more of whatever the man on top of her might give. It was a wild passionate need, and she did not understand it in the small part of her that still thought logically.

Her hands were moving on their own, and grasping at his hips, pulling him to her, and she was kissing him, hungrily.

Eomer chuckled, cupping her face in one hand, and looking at her with a knowing and tender look. He leaned down and kissed her again for a quick moment before asking her silently if she was certain.

The absurdity of it prickled in that part of her mind that thought still, but she did not currently possess the ability to think it through as she nodded.

He adjusted his position over her and after a moment of fumbling with his breeches and with himself, he pressed into her in slow increments.

She closed her eyes at the first, and when she looked up at him, she saw the strained look on his face, and she wondered what it was that was so hard in what he was doing. It occurred to her too late that he was taking a great deal of care with her. It had not occurred to her until she pushed her hips up against him, and he let out a strangled sound, his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

“Have… have I hurt you?” she whispered.

Eomer took a deep breath, and smiled down at her, “Not at all, dear.” He kissed her again, smiling against her lips as he began to move carefully in her.

It had not hurt in the way that everyone told her it should. It was a little uncomfortable, but she barely felt that for the drive to draw more pleasure from him.

Eomer’s hands caught her wrists in a playful hold, “If you keep that pace, I will not last, dear one.”

Her hips bucked up against him, almost a challenge.

He grinned at her, pressing her under his weight to hold her still. He liked her playfulness and felt a squeezing in his chest at the look in her hooded eyes.

Lothiriel’s arms pulled free, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, knowing little, but thinking that it felt right. She cried out again as he pressed into her a little deeper, and a little harder, and she pressed a hand to the back of his neck, guiding his lips back to hers.

He whispered her name as he began to move a little more frantically against her, and then stilled, all but collapsing on top of her as he fought to catch his breath.

0x0x0

The servants that set the small breakfast table in the sitting room looked between each other at the sounds coming from the Royal bedchamber and smiled. If they had any part in the gossip that would go about the halls, there would be no rumor that The Queen of Rohan was a cold wife, as had been a concern, for it sounded as if she was rather enjoying her marriage so far.

0x0x0

She stared up at the ceiling over her head, and his shoulder, nudging him a little to stop herself from suffocating under his weigh.

“A thousand apologies,” Eomer chuckled, rolling off of her, and grasping her, pulling her to him so he could wrap his arm around her, and hold her close. His hand smoothed over her hair and pushing a few tendrils that had slipped her braid back from her face, “Was that alright?”

Lothiriel blushed, looking away from him. She felt out of sorts, a bit sore but not terribly, and she felt sticky, and wanted to wash, but was certain that it would be rude to do so without his instruction to.

She felt close to him in a strange way, not only physically, but as if they had shared something. It was nice, if not what she expected or could quantify beyond what she had felt in the moment. That was passion, then, she realized, and she would later feel a little ashamed of the feeling of want, of unbridled need.

He tilted her face up to him, and she saw his coy smile, “You were quite vocal, my lady.”

Her face paled for a moment, she gently withdrew from his embrace, ashamed, “My apologies, my lord.” She climbed from the bed and picked her nightgown up from the floor.

“What are you apologizing for now?” Eomer teased, sitting up to watch her as she pulled her nightgown and dressing gown over herself, and wrapping the robe tightly as if to hide herself.

“I should not have…” she could not even speak it aloud. If someone had heard them, she could be construed as a strumpet, not a maiden, but clearly a woman that enjoyed the act for it and rather that for the purpose of producing an heir, or for duty’s sake. They might even think that she had not in fact been a maiden if she had so clearly enjoyed it. Her face felt hot as she tried to sort out the gossip that could come from their… activities…

He watched her, patiently waiting for an explanation. He had no complaints about any part of their lovemaking and had been under the impression, which was clearly right, that she had none either.

Even if she did, that was no cause for apologies, but rather for conversation on what he had done to displease her and how he might do better.

“I did not behave in a manner that was appropriate,” she said, finally settling on a sentence that might get her point across.

“Is it not appropriate to enjoy the attentions of a husband?” Eomer asked, smirking, “Someone must alert all the happy wives in existence.”

She shook her head at him, “My lord…”

“Eomer,” he corrected.

She grimaced a little, “Eomer, I…” her eyes widened a fraction, and she moved the covers about on the bed, looking at the sheets.

“What are you doing?”

“There is no blood,” she said, her mouth hanging open a little.

“I should hope not, I was quite careful not to hurt you.”

That was an entire conversation that she did not feel was appropriate to have, and she stared at him, “They will expect it.”

“Why?” He asked, not wanting to ask who.

“Because I was… I had never…”

“I know,” Eomer tilted his head just a fraction, “but I am failing to see the correlation.”

“I should have bled when you…” she gestured vaguely at him, and then realized that her frantic search of the sheets had left him uncovered, and she quickly looked away, shamefaced.

It was a strange turn, and Eomer was not entirely certain what to make of it. Nor was he certain what it was that she was digging for in her trunk. The small knife she took from a box within that trunk made even less sense, or the way that she pulled up her night gown to bare her ankle.

“Lothiriel,” he called, catching her hands before she cut herself.

“What?” she asked, annoyed.

“I… what are you doing?”

“If there is no blood, my people will think that I was not a maid.”

“I do not care what they think!” he twisted the knife out of her hand, “I know the truth, and so do you. It does not matter what anyone else says or thinks.” He tossed the knife aside, staring at her, “I will not have you harming yourself to appease anyone else.”

“Then you would have people say that I was touched before you?”

“You are my wife, Lothiriel,” he leaned forward, clasping her face in his hands, making her look at him, unable to look away, or ignore him, “If anyone says such things then you direct them to me, and I will call them out for speaking dishonors on my queen. But here, we do not hold such things in so high a regard as in Gondor. Nor do we check at people’s bedsheets, because what happens in a marriage bed is only a concern for those in it.” Unless one party was harmed, but that was an entirely separate conversation that he did not feel the need to explain.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing a little, “As you have said, Eomer, but there are other considerations… I am pleased that you at least might mean to defend my honor.”

He released her, “You are my wife,” he reiterated, folding his hands, “How else should I be?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, thinking, “Indeed.”

He took a breath, “If it will stop your worrying, I will take it in hand,” Eomer said, “Leave it to me.”

“What do you mean to do?” she asked, watching him toss the pillows out of the way and strip the sheet from the bed and bundle it up in his arms.

“I will take it taken to the laundry later, and tell the servant that there was some blood, and that we need a fresh sheet,” he said, “as for the blood, I think there is some chicken that is to be served tonight for the evening meal.”

She stared at him, “That seems quite a bit of work, when a quick cut would solve it.”

He dropped the sheets in their ball on the floor, and cupped her face in his hands, “I’ll not have you hurt, even in so small a way as that.” He tilted her face to make her gaze meet his, “I will protect you, as I have sworn to do, even if it seems I must protect you from yourself.” He ran his thumb over her lip, savoring the soft give of the flesh there.

There was no sound of a lie in his voice, and she did not quite understand him, but his plan seemed sound enough. She smiled, wanting to be out from his intense gaze, “I do hope they have brought some food for I for one am famished.”

“Are you?” he reached out to pinch at her hip, catching only fabric, but giving her clothes a tug.

“You should dress, husband,” Lothiriel shot him a look and shook her head.

“As my lady bid,” he smiled, through his confusion with the way that she acted. He should have held her a bit longer, and not teased her for the sounds she made in passion, but he had not meant for it to hurt her.

He liked hearing her pleasure, and that she had let her instincts rule her, at least in that way. Having been so nervous that he would hurt her or that she would not enjoy his attention, the fact that she had warmed him through.

If he had liked Lothiriel before, he liked her all the more now. There was a playfulness in her that only needed to be let out, and in time, when she was comfortable with him, it would be.

She did not look at him as he pulled his breeches up and pulled his dressing gown over his bare chest, waiting until she thought that he was properly covered before looking back as he came to her side.

It was not until they sat to break their fast that she saw his exposed flesh and then struggled to find some place to look that would not give the impression that she was ogling him. The best option presented was for her to make an overly decisive choice over what pastry she might take from the tray.

Eomer noticed her carefully averted gaze and fought a smile at it. He liked the coloring in her cheeks, and the way she bit her lip to stop the smile that was coming on. “Are you well, wife?”

“I am,” she kept her gaze down, cutting her breakfast into small pieces before lifting those pieces to her lips.

His smile widened, “I am pleased to hear.” He poured them each some coffee, a drink that he had tried in Gondor and liked well enough to buy a share of it to bring home with him.

“Thank you,” Lothiriel smiled, “Are there any engagements today?”

“No, I doubt anyone will try to rouse us, either.”

“Why not?”

“We are newlywed,” Eomer smiled, “I am certain the opinion is that we might want some time alone.”

She coughed, choking a little on her coffee, “I am not certain I know what you mean.”

“Only what I said. I think you will find that I speak rather plainly.”

“But, what do they imagine that we will be doing all day?”

“The mind reels,” Eomer laughed, slapping a hand on the table. After a moment he quieted, but he still smiled at her, “By your leave, I would like to come to know you better that I do.”

Lothiriel thought a moment, “I suppose it would be fair to say that you have known me better than any other man,” she smirked, feeling for the first time that she had a shred of control over the conversation with her husband. He was not asking her for anything that would make her uncomfortable, and as he was a man with some worldly experience, she guessed that such a teasing statement would please him. She had been correct and felt a little pride at them.

Eomer chuckled, reaching his hand to hers. He lifted that hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “You have wit, my queen.”

“Are you surprised by that?”

“No,” he admitted, “I knew that you had a sharp wit and I like you for it. I like a woman who speaks her mind.”

She needed time to be able to decide what it was that he wanted her to be. In her experience every man said that he wanted a bold woman, but few ever actually did. What they wanted was a wife that spoke their husband’s minds, and who supported their husband’s thoughts in strokes that could be considered bold. She did not know him well enough to be able to play act her way through her marriage to better please her husband. He seemed a kind man, but then it was early days, they had only been married twelve hours, if that. His temperament could easily change.

The best course of action was to get the support of the court, his advisors and the people, until she was able to produce a son and heir for the Mark.

Still, even with those thoughts pressing at her, she smiled prettily at her husband, and looked back to her plate.

“I meant to speak to you sooner,” Eomer said, after swallowing a mouthful of pastry, “on the matter of your dowry and what it should be used for.”

She let out a noncommittal sound, “The money has been given to you, and to your kingdom, to use in whatever way you think is best. I am certain that you will act wisely.”

This answer did not seem to displease him so much as confuse him, “Perhaps, but I should think to ask your opinion, as without you we would not have had it at all.”

“What do you propose?”

“I should like to use it to fund the rebuilding of the Westfold.”

She nodded, thoughtfully, “Yes. If we can rebuild the farm holdings there, we could stabilize our trade, and our economy after only a few harvests.”

He smiled, “Do you know a fair bit about farming?”

“Not much, but I will read up on the subject.”

“I can have some farmers and experts come, if you wish, so that they may impart their practical knowledge,” Eomer took another bite, and studied her, “Oh, I have forgotten.” He dropped the sweet bread on to his plate, wiping his fingers and mouth with a napkin before rising, “I will return presently.” He kissed the top of her head and left their rooms.

Lothiriel followed him with her eyes, not knowing where he was going, or why, and that made her uncomfortable.

These rooms were hers, as well as the King’s but it was strange to be in them alone, especially so soon after having been give use of them. She felt a little like a thief who would at any moment be caught in some treachery. She looked at the tapestry that hung on the wall, men on horses, their swords drawn, and frowned a little. It was a well-done work, but not one that she thought she liked having in her rooms. But she did not have the authority as yet to instruct His Majesty on the décor of their rooms.

The door opened and she checked herself from turning to look back, not wanting to appear like a fishmonger’s wife, craning her neck.

“I had forgotten your morning gift,” Eomer chuckled, childing himself thought his laughter.

“Do not chastise yourself, for I had not thought of it,” she lied convincingly, letting out a little laugh.

He held out a sheet of parchment to her, “This is the deed for my house at Aldburg. Go on and take it.” His smile was a little crooked as he looked at her surprised face.

She did, hesitating as she took the page in her hand, and looking over the deed, wondering at it. It seemed freshly done.

Aldburg was a goodly property, but had ever been a hereditary seat, and she knew that he had been Ealdorman of Aldburg before he had been made king. She wondered what would happen to it in the occasion of a widowing, or if she had multiple sons, but had the impression that asking such questions would damper Eomer’s mood.

“I had it drawn up for you,” he stood behind her, his hands rested on the arms of her chair, and he leaned his face down to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Our people do not write much, save for the highborn, but that is more for letter writing and the like,” his voice murmured, “but I wanted to have something to hand you as the gift, and I know you like your pages.”

She did her best not to turn her face to look at him. It was her opinion that he was far too familiar, but she thought that to tell him so would damage whatever fledgling relationship she had with her husband. She was a wife now and should patiently accept whatever it was that her husband said and did, even if it would take her time to get used to it, “That is a very kind gesture. Thank you.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, smelling the floral scent on her hair before withdrawing back to his place at their small table. She smiled at him, and he felt light for it. He had been hopeful about this marriage would be a happy one, and he felt that there was nothing to obstruct such a thing. He did not know the plotting and devising that was forming in his wife’s pretty head. He had feared not being able to form words in her presence, that he would fall into the comfort of silence, and that she would mistake his shyness for displeasure, but he felt comfortable speaking with his wife, even if she had some strange ideas that he might need to help her unlearn. He could love this woman quite easily with a little time, and perhaps she could love him in return.

“Might we go for a ride, my lord?” she asked suddenly, smiling sweetly, “I should like to learn the land that has adopted me.” In truth the dull soreness in her body made her a little wary, and she needed to get them out of their rooms before he attempted another seduction. She was certain of little presently, but she knew she would give into him if he touched her.

He smiled at her words without thinking too long on correcting her, and he nodded, “That would be lovely, my lady.”


	4. Chapter 4

Eomer picked up the sheets in his arms and waited for a moment to approach his wife’s maid, trying to work out how to ask her for this help without seeming like a dishonest cur. It was still, to his mind, such a silly thing to need to do, but he did not want Lothiriel to have anything to worry over.

As Heohild left her mistress, Eomer gestured for her to join him in the corridor.

Her face paled a little, and her brow furrowed, but she did as he silently bid her to, “My lord King?”

“I know this is not your duty, but would you be so kind as to take these sheets to the laundry and let Mistress Gredda know that we require fresh ones?”

“I will, sire, but…” she looked at the cloth and then back at him.

Eomer’s head shifted a little, “The Queen is concerned that someone will try to inspect them. There seems to be some strange ideas in Gondor about what should be done after a wedding night.”

Heohild chuckled at the reddening in the King’s ears, and found his embarrassment endearing, but said nothing beyond, “I believe that. I will have it done, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Eomer thought about asking if it was right to lie to his wife, or if Heohild had any information that might help him get to know Lothiriel more easily, but it struck him as wrong that he should ask her maid to betray the Queen’s confidences.

He slipped back into the room, and found his wife dabbing perfumed oil to her pulse points. He felt a little like a spy as he watched her but did anyway.

The look she gave him was a little startled. She had never had anyone watch her in such a way as her husband did, “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to leave you waiting.”

“It is quite alright,” he blushed a little, thinking that he should wait until she joined him, rather than peering at her as she finished her preparations. “I do not think that such perfection is done easily.”

She clucked her tongue at him, shaking her head as she pulled her gloves on. She had a pretty smile, “I am your wife, you needn’t flirt so.”

He tilted his head at her, “But I shall, by your leave.”

“If you wish,” she had colored prettily, and he felt a little pride every time he managed to draw that reaction in her. He knew that she was trying to behave herself, and to control her emotions, having done it himself through most of his life. But she could not stop herself from blushing and could not control it.

They were married, but he was courting her in a way, and meant to do it well. He bit back a teasing question regarding the ride that they would take but thought better of making the joke yet, being not entirely certain that Lothiriel would appreciate the insinuation, or the teasing request that they not leave their chambers. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes,” she took his arm, still looking shyly away from him, not certain why he insisted on terms of affections with her, besides the fact that it might be expected.

He folded his hand over hers and was surprised by how dainty that hand on his arm was. There was a small trembling in her hand, and he squeezed reassuringly at her hand before opening the door for her. 

0x0x0

Lothiriel sat with her sisters-by-marriage, and she blushed a little at the questions that Gadrien put to her, “It was not too terrible,” was the best answer that she could devise.

There was a look between Gadrien and Eowyn as if they were confused by it.

“Not too terrible?” Gadrien asked, raising a brow.

“No, there was some discomfort, but it was… bearable.”

Eowyn’s head tilted a little, “Did…” she looked away, not wanting to ask the question, but deciding to do it anyway, “Did my brother not please you?”

Lothiriel felt her face heat, and her mind sped, trying to find an answer that would not render her the subject of gossip, “He was very kind.”

Gadrien chuckled, “Was he indeed?”

Lothiriel looked at her brother’s wife, trying to decide what it was about the idea of Lothiriel doing her duty that so interested her? She could not admit that she had returned from her ride with her husband and had almost dragged him back to bed with her, as if she was a harlot. It was not the behavior of a Queen, and it was not acceptable to even infer such things about her.

“Oh, tell me, I beg you. I am certain that I am with child,” Gadrien whined, “and your brother will not be in my bed for months after I tell him so.”

Eowyn stared at Gadrien with confusion and a mild form of irritation, “I doubt Lothiriel Queen wants to hear of her brother’s marriage bed any more than I want to hear of my brother’s.”

“By grace, I will hear nothing further,” Lothiriel said, still blushing, and wondering what Gadrien meant by her words, “I will do my duty, and with no complaint.” It was the best answer and seemed to make the point to Gadrien that she would not discuss the matter further.

0x0x0

Eomer was in a good mood, and he remained so through the teasing that his friends gave him, even chuckling a little at the pointed jab that Eomer King seemed quite besotted with his bride, though he did blush a little, sensing a jest that would have the legs to run for a while.

“Did you do well by her?” Eothain asked, a little too seriously.

“I did,” Eomer smiled to himself, biting down on the details.

“She is the Queen, and I should think that she should know that if she is not pleased, she is welcome to call on us to avenge her,” Elfhelm said, it was a risky joke to make, but he knew Eomer well enough to know that he would not take offense.

“She was quite pleased,” Eomer said, thinking a moment. He had in his younger days been perhaps a little too open with his relationships, and he spoken too readily with his friends, but had the distinct impression that his wife did not want such discussions to occur, especially considering that he thought her far too concerned with whether or not she would be gossiped about, “She seems to have no complaints, and I will extend your offer to her, Lord Marshal.”

He could stand the teasing of his friends better than he could stand the strange way that Prince Imrahil had asked if Lothiriel Queen had done her duty. Eomer had affirmed and wondered at the nod that the Prince had given him before falling into polite conversation and well wishes.

He hadn’t longed so much to take a woman to bed since he was a youth. He sat in his hall, looking over the feasting guests, his eyes picking out his wife in her dark blue dress. She was speaking with a few of the ladies of the court, likely trying to judge if she would invite them to sit with her when she took to her solar. There was a keen look on her face, and he could see her weighing their every word and gesture.

“I would think Sir Eothain speaks truly, lord King” Lord Elfhelm said, smirking, “for it seems that in spite of all of the lovely ladies, you have only eyes for your bride, though you have not known her long.”

Eomer hid his face in his cup before answering, “As you said, my lord. The Queen is beautiful.”

He thought for a moment of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to bed, wanting to hold her, and speak in low tones. He wanted her to trust him enough to tell him her secrets and hear his. There was an optimism that was flooding him, and he hoped that it was not foolish to believe that they would stay as happy as they were now.

After a time, he went to his wife’s side, his hand at the small of her back, “Should we retire, my lady?”

She hesitated a moment, “Would you mind… I should like to stay a little longer.”

“Of course,” he kissed her hand, “Let me know when you wish.”

Lothiriel smiled shyly at the way he held her hand and kissed it, folding his hand over hers, and damned her treacherous innards for tightening at the affection. She followed him with her eyes, her brow shifting a little as she watched him.

“His Majesty seems quite affectionate,” Mistress Waerhild, Eothain’s wife smiled at Lothiriel.

“Yes, he is a kind man,” Lothiriel smiled, a pretty but distant look on her face.

“You are blessed and may yet be a blessing.”

Lothiriel maintained her smile and tried not to think on the words too hard. It had been her experience at court that kind words said were rarely without malice beneath them. She didn’t want to believe that this court would be the same, but she was newly come to this strange land, and would need to watch and learn. “I do hope to be.”

0x0x0

“They seem to get on well for two people that have never met,” Amrothos said, a light tone to his remark.

“They have met before, and they spent most of the day together,” Erchirion corrected, irritably. He liked Eomer King, and he liked his sister. He knew them both and knew that they were well suited. He had intended to try to fling them together if they had not been betrothed.

“I doubt they did much talking,” Amrothos replied, looking to where Eomer was gazing fondly at his wife, “I would not have thought Eomer King was the sort of man that would be led by lust.”

“There is no need for vulgarity,” Imrahil interjected. He had been silent, watching his daughter and new son-in-law with quiet interest. “If you cannot improve the silence, do not try.”

Amrothos gave his father a bemused look, “Do you think they will be happy?”

“I do, in fact,” Imrahil said, “Eomer King seems besotted, and Lothiriel appears… well she will at least do her best to be agreeable to keep her station, and he will then be able to make her happy.”

“I give her a month before she starts a row,” Amrothos said, scanning the hall, to be certain that no one had heard them, and to look for his brother.

Gadrien had retired early in the evening, feeling tired from all the excitement, no doubt, and her husband had stayed behind to socialize, and speak with their King, Elessar. It would seem that state affairs had strained Elphir’s attentions and he was now speaking to a rather pretty lady.

“I think Eomer King would not mind so terribly if she did, depending on the matter,” Erchirion said, “If she yelled at him, he has no qualms yelling back.”

“I fail to see how that makes for a happy marriage,” Amrothos said, frowning.

“As your longest relationship ended when you ran out of coin to pay the young woman, your lack of understanding is no surprise.”

“Boys,” Imrahil said, wanting to stop a fight before it began, “Keep out of your sister’s marriage. If she wants our aid, she will ask for it, but I pray she does not.”

“Do you not think that some fatherly words of wisdom might be due?” Erchirion had never quite understood his father’s distance to their youngest sibling but guessed he had always felt as if he had let her down and had never been able to quite make himself amend the wrongs done in their relationship.

“Your sister has never taken a word of my council to heart, and I doubt that she would mean to begin doing so now,” Imrahil all but grumbled before catching himself, “She will do well here, her strength will might be seen as an attribute.”

0x0x0

Lothiriel undressed with Heohild’s help as usual, and at least was not so intoxicated this time as to make her maid’s work more difficult for her. The evening air was cold, and she moved a little closer to the hearth to warm herself as she waited for Heohild to bring her a nightgown so that she could change out of her shift.

She was going to need a warmer nightgown soon. She had never needed warm clothes. The farthest north she had never been was Minas Tirith, and though it could be cool there, she had never seen snow in her life. As much as she already disliked the chill, the sight of snow excited her. In her mind it was like down feathers. She knew it was water, the same way that rain was, but from what she had heard of it, they sounded so different.

The door opened and she looked up at Eomer, “My lord,” she curtsied as best as she could, “I beg your pardon I haven’t dressed for bed yet.” She saw Heohild return with her nightgown from the corner of her eye.

“You need not continue to make apologies,” Eomer smiled, “especially for actions that are not wrongs.”

She smiled a little, “Just a moment,” she backed toward Heohild, her arms still crossed over her chest. She had them there against the cold at first, but now she was doing her best to cover herself from her husband’s gaze. Darting into the dressing room, Lothiriel silently begged her maid to dress her as quickly as possible.

Heohild obliged, doing her best not to laugh at her mistress’ skittishness. She pulled the dressing robe over Lothiriel’s shoulders and gave her a smile. “It will be alright, my lady.”

“I know,” Lothiriel said, a little curtly before wincing, and giving Heohild an apologetic look.

The handmaid’s smile widened, “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” Lothiriel said, only realizing after she had dismissed her maid that she had forgotten her hair. She went back into the room, her fingers twining a braid as she went, her eyes scanning for a ribbon or some tie. Finding one, she fumbled, trying to tie it well enough to keep it in place.

Eomer watched with some amusement as her face furrowed in concentration, “Might I be of some help?”

She opened her mouth to say no, but instead asked, “Do you know much about ribbons, then?”

“A little,” he smiled, patting the bed next to her, “I do not mean to lay any aspersions on you, but I can do a better braid that the one you have done.”

“Oh?” she arched a brow.

“Yes, I…” he undid her hair carefully, “You do not remember, but I braided your hair last night.”

Her eyes widened staring ahead of her.

“It seems I have poor timing, as these last two nights I am quite incapable of determining how long your handmaid will need to prepare you for bed.” He twisted the locks of hair a little as he braided to better ensure their hold.

“The garb to which I am accustomed is perhaps more complicated than what is common here,” Lothiriel said, “so it might not be that you have come too soon, rather than I take too long.”

“I hardly mind,” he smiled, “I could do this for you every night, if you find my work to your liking.” He tied off the end of her hair, thinking a moment before he spoke again, “I know that you do not know me well, but you needn’t fear me.”

“I do not,” she objected, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Then why do you seem so startled whenever I walk into the room?” he brushed a curl back from her brow, “Hm?”

“Because you… you do not knock,” Lothiriel said, “and if a person does not know that someone is going to come into a room, how else should they respond?”

“Then I will knock,” Eomer nodded, looking over the curve of her shoulder, “and hope that you no longer look so surprised at my presence in our rooms.”

She pursed her lips at him, “I am simply not comfortable being undressed in the presence of others.”

“Even in the presence of your husband?”

Lothiriel’s face fell a little, “As you have said, I do not know you well, and I think it might not be entirely unexpected that I should take some time to become accustomed to such things?”

“I know,” he said, “I am teasing you.”

“Oh.”

He stroked her cheek gently, “You look so lovely this evening, my lady wife.”

She clucked at him, swatting a little at his leg.

Beaming as she looked away, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her toward him so that her back pressed to his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing at her shoulder playfully.

Lothiriel curled a little at the embrace and at his attentions, letting out a giggle, “stop that.”

“Do you wish me to?” he murmured, nuzzling against the side of her throat.

“Your beard tickles me,” she replied, doing her best to regain some dignity, fully aware of how silly it was to try to be ladylike with the words leaving her lips.

Eomer smiled, “I will go undress for bed, but I will return presently.” He looked at her upturned face, and felt pride swell in him. He had at least managed to cause her to relax over the day and was rather pleased with the blush that spread over her cheeks.

“I thought you meant to undress, so that we might sleep,” she said after a moment, her face perfectly blank but for the small glint in her eye.

He released her with a sigh, “and so I shall, but I said little of sleep,” he kissed her cheek as he stood and went to the dressing room. He did not have a servant for this charge and did not intend to take one on. He had managed to dress and undress himself his entire life, excepting his armor of course, but that was a different thing.

Gondorian Lords seemed to have clothes for sleeping, and he had such things, but only for the cold months of winter. Even then, he usually found that he did not really need them. He slept in linen breeches, a point that had been argued but some of his married friends, it being their opinion that, as his marriage had been arranged rather than brought about in the natural way, he would likely make his bride uncomfortable.

Thus far she had said nothing about his choice of sleepwear, and so he felt no need to change it. Granted, they had been married now a day, but she had certainly seen what he slept in the night before and had stared at him for a moment before looking away, which he took as a good sign, and meaning that she found his body to be pleasing enough to make her blush.

The alternative was of course that she found his lack of concern for dressings to be as embarrassing as she found her own state of undress, but that seemed unlikely as she had said nothing about it, and they had spoken a fair amount at breakfast.

When he returned to her, she was nestled under the covers quite comfortably, and she looked at him for a moment with widened eyes. He didn’t know that she almost pulled the covers over her head, but barely had the chance to before he was hurrying over to her. He pulled back the covers and climbed under them next to her, smiling mischievously.

She fought a smile at his face hovering over her. By rights, she should have been more nervous than she was, but there was something about his demeanor that was playful.

He leaned forward and kissed the end of her nose, and then her cheeks, and finally her lips.

There was still some soreness in her core, and she was not entirely certain that she could keep up with him, and his urges. She had already done her duty once today, wondered what his expectations were. It was such a strange thought, and it should not have disquieted her. She was a lady, and a Queen, and she was a prize of battle, and she had forgotten it for a few moments.

Eomer’s dark eyes scanned her face, as he stroked her cheek again, “Dear one, what thought darkens your brow so?”

“I have no such thought,” she made herself smile.

“That is a lie, Lothiriel, and I would rather you not lie, even if you think it a comfort to me to do so.”

Lothiriel’s gaze shifted from his face, “It is a foolish thought, and I oughtn’t voice it.”

He waited, patiently.

“It is only strange to me that I am coming more and more to realize how much my life is changed.”

Eomer smiled, “You have my sympathies, and my assurances that I will do whatever I might to ensure your comfort.”

“You are a kind husband, my lord,” her smile didn’t feel so much like a lie this time. There was some hesitance to him, as if were he to say what he thought that she would dislike it. It had not quite occurred to him that he might be nervous as she was. But that thought was banished by the quick smile he gave her.

“I am yours, my lady,” he rubbed her nose with his, a gentle and sweet touch.

He was so gentle, and she had not expected that of him. It would have been better that her family had spoken of his kind heart rather than the strength of his arm, and his skill in battle. It was a contradiction, that those hands that would cleave an enemy in two touched her face with such tenderness.

His lips claimed hers as gently as he did everything else, and as he kissed her, she felt that warmth in her that she did not understand, and she pressed a little closer to him, not fighting against the wanting that she felt in her blood. That fire was further kindled by his hands tracing the shape of her figure, and for a moment, she forgot her dislike of her body as it pressed closer to her husband and his lips and his tongue.

She pulled back a little, and looked up at him, her hand pushing at his shoulder a little, though she could not think of why she should do so. Her hand trembled a little as she traced the shape of his face. There was such a longing in his eyes, dark and glittering, and more than that, powerful.

Leaning a little in their bed, she blew the candle out, not wanting to see what the look might grow into, certain it would be fierce and wolflike. He had not been anything but gentle in his attentions to her, but that might be out of necessity.

She heard a small chuckle over her, Eomer’s amusement served only to confuse her farther, but she shifted back into his hold, her hand finding his face again.

He was kissing her again, and while his kiss was still soft, there was a purpose in it, as his hands pulled her hips to him, squeezing at her skin, and sighing a little as he did. His hand left her hips as he pressed himself between her thighs. His face hovered over her for a moment, as if he was trying to see her flushed face in the darkness.

It was better that he could not see her, she thought, disgracefully flushed in anticipation of what he would do.

His fingers carefully undid the tie at the neck of her nightgown, his gaze shooting up to her, searching over what little he could see, and he smiled at the way she bit her lip, at least he thought she was biting her lip. He saw a quick flash of her teeth in the dark, and it looked like a smile. Sliding his fingers under her night clothes, he pressed his lips against the flat of her collar, smiling as he felt her warm skin 

He felt so fortunate in his wife, knowing that her shyness would evaporate in time, as she came to know him, but at least she did not fear their marriage bed. She was so warm, and as he slipped into her, he murmured reassurances to her tensing body. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, her face pressing into his shoulder, groaning a little.

There was the quick shame that he hadn’t lasted, but he nestled against her, and her hand petted his hair gently, and he looked back at her, wishing he could see her face, and read her.

He leaned down and kissed her, pulling away to lay on his back, reaching out to her, pulling to him, wanting to apologize, but not finding the words to do it. She rested her head against his shoulder, still trembling a little. He pulled the covers over her against the chilly air and kissed the top of her head, holding her firm and close.

Lothiriel’s hand was cool against his chest, and he made a note to himself that he would be more careful, and he would ensure that she was warm. She would not be used to the cold, and he would need to keep an eye on that matter. He would have some furs readied for her use.

0x0x0

She was the new Queen and needed to familiarize herself with the running of the Hall, and the country, in what ways she might be able to. It was not entirely clear whether or not her husband wanted her to have any involvement in the affairs of state, or if she was to sit by him and present the image of a pretty young queen.

Erchirion had made an effort to check in on her, and had been his normal, jovial self, but did seem almost guarded.

“Just ask whatever it is you mean to ask,” Lothiriel tutted, looking at him, “and stop looking so positively baleful.”

Her brother laughed, “Your direct nature is a credit.”

She raised a brow, “Go on.”

“How do you like your husband?”

“He is kind,” Lothiriel said.

“As you have said a few times, but I wonder if you have any other thoughts besides proclaiming your lord to be of a good disposition.”

“I hardly know him,” she admitted, smiling, “but I have no complaints.”

“Have you spoken with him much?” There was a wry, teasing quality in that smile, and he did not bother avoiding the slap she gave his arm. “I only ask out of brotherly concern, and because Amrothos is of the opinion that the pair of you never leave your bed.”

“I should not like to hear such vicious gossip,” Lothiriel composed herself in the most ladylike way, folding her hands in her lap, “especially not from the lips of my own kin!”

“There is no shame in it, if it was true,” Erchirion laughed, “I only hope that you will tell him the truth. There are things you of course do not know about each other, and the only way that you will know them is if you share. And do not bother to tell me that you think it is hardly your place to be a burden.”

She pursed her lips at him, “I was more inclined to say that it is not your business.”

“That is true. Is there anything that you wish him to know that you would rather not say?”

“Of course, there is.”

“Well, may I offer myself as a messenger?”

“You may not, you fool.”

Erchirion laughed, “I had to offer.”

“You only love the gossip of it and want to know what is happening.”

“You wound me, sister.”

“If you do not stop being such a fool, I certainly will,” Lothiriel fought a smile, but failed in it, shaking her head at him, “If I require help, or council, I will ask for it, but otherwise, I would have you keep your nose out of it.”

“As you bid, my lady queen,” Erchirion smiled.

She nodded, not needing him to ask about her marriage, and especially not about her marriage bed. The last thing she needed was to have anyone gossiping about her as some wanton harlot. She had enough enemies in Minas Tirith that would dance with glee over such tidbits, and they would grow in detail, and before she knew it, or could stop it, the damage to her reputation would be done, and by extension the damage to her King and husband’s.

“In truth I should see to Elphir’s marriage more than I should be concerned with yours.”

“She has not announced a pregnancy,” Lothiriel said, choosing her words carefully.

“Such an innocent sister I have,” Erchirion cooed, “to think our brother is faithful to his wife but for her confinements.”

Her face fell, “No!”

Erchirion quirked a brow, “He has behaved himself well enough here, but…”

She shook her head, “I do not want to know, for if I do, then I will have to live with that knowledge.”

“Do not act as though you do not love a scandal.”

“I do not at present want to hear of anyone breaking their marriage vows, it will be a worm in my ear.”

Her brother stared at her, with some confusion, debating what to say, or how to assure her that such a thing would not be her fate, if he read Eomer well. The man was loyal to a fault, having decided to make an oath, he would not break it easily. But he could not think of any way to make that clear without sounding as though he was taking her husband’s side before anything even happened.

“I have been told that I must learn to make my husband’s shirts,” Lothiriel scoffed, smirking a little.

“You are such a perfect little wife now,” Erchirion chuckled.

“Do not tease me!” she scoffed, “I had heard of such things, but had thought that they were nothing more than the idealizations of domesticity! Have they not servants for this?”

“For the finer pieces of your wardrobe, there will be people to mind them and tend them. He has a fellow that makes the most of his clothes, but shirts and whatnot are under your care.”

“I am not certain that my ladies would do much to help in that regard. It does not seem to be like Minas Tirith in that regard.”

“I am certain Mistress Heohild has that in hand.”

“I know, she is an able dressmaker,” Lothiriel said, “I simply need to stop my mind from going beyond me.”

Erchirion nudged her shoulder with his, “As soon as you are comfortable, you will find no complaints here. Though, this court is simpler than you came up in, I think you will be happier for it.”

0x0x0

“Have you told her about your boy, yet?” Eothain asked, teasingly.

“No. I should think that her brothers would have told her, but you know that Imrahil doesn’t like him.”

“At least the nursery is comfortable,” Eothain smirked.

“I will make the proper introductions when her family leaves. I do not want to start a row over his treatment.”

Eothain rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Eomer had always preferred to keep the peace, but if some disagreement were to happen, he would take sides, and quickly, and that might not be the sort of thing that you would want new in-laws to witness, especially when the father-in-law had such direct opinions on the matter.

0x0x0

Lothiriel’s family were the last guests to leave, and for a moment, she thought that perhaps her father was hesitant to be parted from her. It was a childish notion, as her father had done little to see her or speak to her beyond brief moments of polite small talk.

There should have been more disappointment in that than she felt, but she had other duties that she was needed to attend to.

Her family’s departure was not a tearful one but seemed more to be a proud moment for her father. She understood, of course. She had married better than anyone could have expected and had ensured an alliance between their two countries. While Elessar debated who would be the Gondorian Ambassador to Rogan, it would be Lothiriel’s place to speak for the country of her birth.

Her father clasped her shoulders, and he kissed her cheeks, “You have done us proud, daughter mine.”

“Thank you, my lord father.”

“If you should need anything, do not hesitate to send word to me.”

“Send something to season the food here,” she smiled wryly.

Imrahil chuckled, “I will do, dear.”

And with that, he, and the rest of her kin that had come to see her married, was gone.

She didn’t shed any tears, but she did feel some sense of sorrow to see her family gone. There was a new family here that she would make and keep to the best of her ability.

The brisk departure reinforced the idea, that she knew might be mistakenly made, that her family had never cared for her beyond what it was that she could provide for them.

She tightened the wool stole around her shoulders as she watched them ride away from her into the plains. Eventually they became faint dots on the horizon, and then she could not see them, and she was alone, standing in front of her new home, in the cold wind that tried to pull her hair free from its containment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you all ready for the first of many stupid misundertandings? Because we're back, and it's gonna be a mess.

Eomer peered at his wife, solitary and silent as she watched her family leave her, without much more than a backwards look. Her family had always seemed strange to him, though he was friends with her father and her brothers, he would lie if he said that he had not noticed the divide between them.

Erchirion had explained it in part, in the vague way that was common in the explanations of family dynamics, saying that Lothiriel had lived with her uncle after she had finished her studies to be a lady. Erchirion did not tell him much, saying that their father had thought that Lothiriel would be safe in the capitol, and that he thought that she had stood a better chance of making a good marriage. Eomer could feel something unsaid in those words, an undercurrent of family secrets.

He approached her, trying his best not to walk quietly, not wanting to startle her, but she did not move, not even to turn her head at his approach. He stood beside her, his hand hovering at her shoulder before he touched her.

Lothiriel did not flinch, but she did not look at him either.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, finally looking at him, “Yes.”

He rubbed his hand over her shoulder, feeling the stole under his hand, “This stole is too thin… Come and warm yourself, dear.”

Lothiriel let herself be guided out of the wind. Once inside, she crouched by the fire, and warmed her hands, rubbing the blood back into them.

Eomer knelt by her side, watching her with some interest. He had expected tears in spite of the distant relationship with her family. He had thought that perhaps in the time that she had been with her family that any distance would be mended, and perhaps in some way it had, but she showed nothing.

“There is something I must tell you, and I think you will not be displeased with me.”

Her head swiveled, waiting for an explanation. Her mind ran through every possible thing that he could tell her, “What is it?”

“There is someone I want you to meet,” Eomer smiled, “Caelon is a good boy, if a bit exuberant.”

Her eyes widened a little, “Why have I not met him sooner?” The idea had lodged itself firmly in her mind, and she could not shake it loose. Eomer had a bastard child then? And that child had been in the hall the entire time?

“In truth, your father does not have any regard for Caelon, and I thought it best that he remained out of sight while your family was here,” Eomer stood, offering her his hand, and she took it after a moment of thought.

“Where has he been staying?” she trailed obediently after her husband, up the wide stairs behind the throne dais and to the apartment above the Great Hall.

“In the rooms that traditionally have been set aside for the Royal children, or any children that are related to the Royal Family,” Eomer explained, “I know you might not find that appropriate, but,” he shook his head a little, “I dislike having rooms sitting empty and without purpose.”

She nodded, following him, and trying to hide her panic, not certain what to say. The question came out before she could stop it, “Who is Caelon’s mother?”

“I have no idea,” Eomer admitted, “Likely a bitch from the street.”

“My lord!” she gasped.

“I know, but you must not hold it against him,” Eomer objected, “What he might lack in pedigree, he more than makes up in heart.”

She felt as if her chest was squeezing the air out of her, not certain that she had judged her husband rightly. She could hardly hold his past against him but thought that a man who would speak of a former lover with such derision… she could not see the kind man that he had been anymore. He had been lost in that callousness. Would he openly speak of her in this way if they had some falling out?

“Your father has met him, and I think that Caelon’s behavior might have not been, entirely proper.”

“My father knows about him?” Lothiriel asked, mortified.

“Yes, we went on a hunt when he was here,” Eomer tilted his head, “Did your father not tell you?”

“That he went hunting with your,” her voice had raised, and she checked herself whispering suddenly, “with your bastard son, no, he did not tell me that.”

Eomer froze in front of the nursery door, rounding to look at her, “With…” he fell silent, trying to wrap his mind around what she had said, and he laughed, “Oh, my dear, no. I think the best way to explain is to show you.”

“I think that might be best,” Lothiriel said, wondering how he meant to talk himself out of this situation. She would do her best to care for a child, because it was not the boy’s fault. It would be hard, but it was the right thing to do.

Eomer opened the door, giving her another look before going in, “How is my boy today?”

Lothiriel had stopped, her eyes closed, trying to draw some strength up to handle this situation with grace. Her momentary meditation was broken by the bark. Her eyes widened and she turned the corner to see her husband playing with one of the largest dogs she had ever seen in her life.

“Oh, who is the sweetest boy?” Eomer asked, scratching the hound’s head, “You are, yes, you are. And you have been so well behaved!”

She stared, confounded by the fine furnishing of the room, fine carpets and seats had been elegantly arranged for the use of the King’s dog.

“This is Caelon,” Eomer grinned at her as the dog licked at his face, “I found him as a pup, and he followed me home. I think he was the runt of his litter and was left by his mother. Either that or he ran away from home, and I accidentally abducted him.” He was talking too much.

“Well, I can hardly imagine how large his siblings are then,” Lothiriel smiled, at the dog, who’s shoulders came well above her hips. She glanced at Eomer shyly, “I am sorry for my dishonorable assumption.”

“No, it is my fault. I had assumed your brothers, or your father would have said,” Eomer’s fingers caught in the leather collar, and he gave a quick command in his tongue. Caelon sat at his side, grinning and panting excitedly. “He likes to get on things and people, so if he gets on your leg, just yell and him and knock him down.”

Lothiriel sat in one of the seats and waited for Eomer to release his hold, and as soon as he did, Caelon came trotting over to her, bounding up, and resting his front paws on her knees. She grinned, petting him, “You are a fine fellow, I think,” she giggled as he licked at her face.

“He can be, but he got on your father’s leg with the intention that might be natural but is not seen as decent.”

Lothiriel laughed, “He never did!”

Eomer nodded, “I swear it. That is why I kept him out of sight. I doubted your father would be at all pleased, especially if there was a repeat of that embarrassing incident.”

Caelon calmed a little, and rested his head on Lothiriel’s lap, pleased by the scratches she gave his head.

“Why would it not be appropriate for him to stay in here?” Lothiriel asked suddenly.

“I did not know what your opinions on hounds were, so I thought that you might want him moved.”

“I love dogs,” Lothiriel admitted, “but normally, in Gondor I mean, they are kept for hunting and guarding.”

“Well, he is not the worst for guarding, but he is rather too friendly unless he can sense fear or rage,” Eomer admitted, “Though there is a rumor that has been taken as truth that Caelon is a fierce beast that will rip the throat out of a man.”

“Has he ever done?”

“I made a joke once, that I thought was clear in intention, that my dog should be feared,” Eomer admitted, smiling a little at the memory, “and some of the other men, and a few of their squires believed it for some reason that I have never been able to understand. My lady, look at him, does he seem terrifying?”

Lothiriel looked down at the dog’s grinning face, and thought that he might be a bit simple, “No, he does not.”

Eomer gestured as if her agreement served as a vindication for years of misunderstanding that he had tried to set right. He hesitated, “Well he did bite the Wormtongue once, but you cannot hold that against him.”

“From what I have heard of the man, I will hold nothing against Caelon,” she looked thoughtful for a moment before she spoke, “May I take him for walks and such?”

“If you wish,” Eomer smiled, “One of the stableboys is quite fond of him and has been taking him out when I cannot. But he is your dog, too, now, and if you need any company and I am not available, I am certain he would be pleased and willing to accompany you.”

“You should have told me,” she frowned.

“I thought you knew,” Eomer protested.

“Have you been locked up like a prisoner?” Lothiriel asked, picking Caelon’s face up in her hands, “Have you been terribly treated?”

“Now, hold on a moment,” Eomer tried not to smile at her, “I have never seen a cell with such fine appointments as this.”

“Have you seen many?”

Eomer chuckled, “Only the ones here, I admit that.”

She looked at him, a coy look on her face, “Well, let him free.”

“You do not mind him roaming free, then?”

“No, of course not.”

Eomer grinned, and he stood going over to her and kissed the top of her head. “Good. I was going to let him run about whether you said so or not.”

The look she gave him could have been withering if she had not been smiling. “What does his name mean?”

“Nothing,” Eomer admitted, “I made it up. I thought it sounded like something out of legend.”

Lothiriel smiled up at him, trying to imagine what he was like as a youth.

She had seen him affect that dark countenance that she had assumed was his defaulted expression before they were wed, but since that time he had only directed it at others. He had not looked at her with anything but tenderness.

Before they had wed, she had thought that she might have feared him, but she could not quite muster that now. She had not seen any of the temper that she had heard so much of.

She did not admit it to anyone, for such affections could pass easily if she learned something that would affect them, but she liked Eomer. He was a kind man, the one thing she could openly admit. He seemed to be fond of her, if his teasing was any indication. She hoped it was an indication of good feeling, rather than that he simply wanted to make her uncomfortable.

It seemed unlikely that the vexations and teasing were malicious. He was so gentle, even when he tugged on her braid or her skirts. It seemed that she pleased him, and she hoped that she would manage to extend his interest as far as she could.

0x0x0

The next few days were not as busy as Lothiriel would have thought them, and she took her time learning the court and the players in it with the help of Lady Baldgwyn. She needed to assign ladies to be of her household, and she needed to choose carefully, as they would be the women that she spent her days with. The court at Meduseld did not seem quite as complicated as the ones that she had she had grown up in. She would not be dressed and undressed by swarms of ladies, and she would have more freedom to move about the city than she had ever held in her life.

Caelon followed after her most of the time, not needing a leash as he had been trained well enough not to run off as long as they stayed clear of the butcher. Eomer had warned her that there was a lady dog that Caelon wanted to get at, and that the butcher had not seemed interested in having any pups off of her at present.

The major problem that she was facing at present was the mess that was the ledger books. She was thankful at least that Lady Eowyn had written things out, after a fashion. Lothiriel liked her husband’s sister, and she respected her, but her system of recording seemed to be little better than quick notes jotted out, some of which were written on slips of scrap paper and shoved them into the ledger to have the numbers fixed in their place later.

Lothiriel found an abacus, old but very well made, and got to work, trying to untangle the mess of the books, sending out the stewards to bring back counts of everything that was held by the King of Rohan, wheat, vegetables, down to the grain, she wanted to know how much there was. The books on landholdings sat, and taunted her, but she assured herself that she would get to those.

She drafted a few letters to the lords through the land to inquire after the exact numbers of the king’s share of their produce and crops, making it clear that she was asking for the sake of her ledgers and accounting. The letters sat, as she worked and reworked them, not wanting to offer any offense to her new country or the lords of it.

0x0x0

Lothiriel had eaten quickly and excused herself, explaining that she wanted to get some work done before bed.

Eomer found her at her desk, dressed for bed and working on her books by candlelight. She was rubbing her brow, and shifting the beads on the abacus, and fought the urge to smile at her irritated face. “Are we absolutely destitute?”

“No, we have an acceptable surplus, bearing in mind the plan to feed the Westfold survivors. That is, if these numbers are accurate,” Lothiriel sat back, folding her hands on the desktop.

“They should be,” he picked up one of the letters, “What is this?”

“Oh, I…” she hesitated, “I wanted to send word to your Ealdormen to ensure that the yield numbers they have sent are accurate.”

His smile was gentle and adoring, “I will write them.” He smoothed his hand over her hair gently.

“Do you think it would be seen as improper for me to do it?” she asked.

“Not improper as such, but they do not know you, and these are proud men.”

Lothiriel nodded, looking almost dejected by the realization.

“You seem to have made a good deal of progress,” Eomer said to cheer her, and seemed to achieve his goal in the way her chin tilted up.

“I thought I would do well to have this in hand and managed before turning my gaze to the rest of the household.”

“Well, I would advise caution if you mean to tell Gredda or Tildweth to change their ways.”

Gredda and Tildweth, the Head of the King’s servants, and the King’s cook, seemed both to be strong women, who would meet insurrection with open war, and Lothiriel had no intention of causing any friction as long as they recognized that she was mistress of this household.

“I will be kindly and discreet,” Lothiriel said decisively.

“I am certain you will be,” he smiled through the realization that he had seen her all but running through the hall and working nonstop. He wondered if she had eaten between breakfast and dinner, or if she had just kept moving, “Come to bed, dear one. You need to rest.”

“In a moment,” she murmured, “I want finish this page.”

“Alright,” he kissed the top of her head and went to undress and ensure that the fire was lit in their bedroom.

He had thus far been rather pleased with his marriage. He had been thinking that rather frequently, and always felt the need to remind himself that it had been a little more than a week. Lothiriel was doing well and seemed as fond of reorganizing the ledgers as she was at reorganizing their wardrobe. She was well suited to the task, and he counted it as another blessing.

For Lothiriel’s part, she had been trying to work out a puzzle of moral reckoning and had not been able to find an answer that she found quite acceptable. Her entire life, she had been told that she was to reflect well on her family, and she was to be chaste and was the publicly show her accomplishments, be that conversation, or playing her lute or her harp. The idea of entering any sort of intimate relationship with a man had never been something that she had even considered, knowing that such a thing would disgrace herself and her family.

She was married, and thus was to submit to her husband’s attentions, but did her enjoyment of his attentions make her dishonorable? She could not quite work it out, and wanted to ask, but if the answer was that she was some wicked thing, then whoever she asked, would know, and there was nothing a court thrived on as much as gossip.

Any gossip about their new and foreign-born queen would be spread quickly and viciously, she was certain of it, and she could not have that. She needed to succeed, and make sure that there was no reason that anyone could disapprove of her. She guessed that there were people waiting for her to fail in some way, and she would not give them any reason for glee.

She set her books aside, rubbing her brow again before snuffing her candle out and went through to the bedchamber. Her arms folded over her chest and smiling as Eomer turned down the covers for her.

There was a warm feeling at the sweet gesture, and at Eomer’s smile. It had begun coming on in the last few days, and she wished it would stop. She had suffered through enough unrequited infatuations in her life, and she did not need another one at present. It would only serve as a distraction, and she had too many duties to learn and manage yet.

It was a moment of weakness, but Eomer did not seem to mind as she climbed into bed and cuddled beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. But it was cold, and he was akin to a furnace, so he couldn’t think her impractical at least.

He wrapped his arms around her, smiling to himself and feeling perfectly content.

It seemed that if she had been working herself ragged trying to overhaul their entire accounting system, and he wondered if she had made any friends yet. A person could not live off duty, alone. He hadn’t asked her about her social life and felt more than a little regret at that. Beyond her work, he hadn’t asked her anything at all.

0x0x0

Lothiriel woke with a start and found herself alone in the bed. She grumbled, irritably, trying to guess what time it was. Heohild usually came to rouse her, gently and with some hesitation, likely certain that if she startled the Queen, or woke her too quickly from sleep that she would lose a hand or be bitten. It was an assumption that, when awake, irritated Lothiriel, as that had only happened once.

The sun was up and shining, and Lothiriel guessed that much of the morning has passed in her sleeping. She looked about the rooms but found no sign of anyone having been in the rooms at all since she had retired for the evening.

It was strange to be entirely alone, and to not be certain how to call someone to help her dress.

She went to fetch her dressing gown as she thought it out and turned at the sound of the door to the chambers opening behind her.

“Good morning,” Eomer smiled, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” she said, biting her temper back, “but I have slept too late.”

“I told Mistress Heohild not to wake you,” he smiled a little hesitantly. “I thought you deserved uninterrupted rest.”

“I appreciate the gesture, my lord, but there are matters to take in hand.”

He tiled his head at her, a quick look of regret flashed over his face.

She took a breath, “I prefer to wake early so that I may ensure that I have time to manage all of my duties.”

“You have never seemed pleased to be awoken,” Eomer said, “I have sent for your breakfast.”

She softened a little, feeling regret at her rudeness, “Thank you, Eomer.”

He smiled at her, approaching slowly, and he kissed her brow.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I had training this morning.”

That revelation startled her a little, “Is there some threat?”

“Nothing pressing,” he said, sitting beside her, “but I try to keep myself ready. I lead my men, and I cannot expect any of my mend to do something that I myself cannot.”

A serving girl came in with the breakfast and Eomer smiled at the girl and thanked her before waving Lothiriel along.

Lothiriel was not by her own consideration a jealous woman, but she felt a quick stab of it from time to time. Her husband was a handsome man, and she had taken careful notice of the way that people looked at him, the way that women looked at him.

She settled down to eat, smiling politely, “Do you enjoy your training?”

“I like being out of doors,” Eomer said as if he had never needed to say so or think about it. He poured their coffee, and Lothiriel realized that she had failed in a minor duty. She was a wife and a hostess, she should be preparing their coffee, “I can do that.”

He looked up, “I do not mind.” He was not smiling, but there was that softened appearance in his features.

She nodded, not certain how to explain what it was that she thought and felt without having to think about it. It was too early in her waking state to compose her thoughts nicely, “I think I should.”

“Why?”

“It is…” she hesitated, drinking the coffee and praying it would work its magic quickly, “It seems like something I should do for you.”

He chuckled, “Are you still so concerned with expectations?”

“Of course.”

“There is no one else to see us, so I would rather you remember that anytime you feel that way. In these rooms, we can at least have a few moments away from those damnable expectations.”

“It is hard to separate one’s self from such things. Especially when such behavior has been taught so firmly.”

He looked surprised, “You are a rather dutiful lady. I know you attended to your studies well, and that you are a quite accomplished lady, but I never considered what manner of studies you were attending.”

For a moment, she was at a loss for how to respond, “Nothing of much significance,” she thought, “We learned manners and comportment, embroidery, poetry, music, languages, diplomacy, history… some work on keeping legers, and household management.”

“That seems quite significant,” Eomer said, “Did you like your studies?”

Her shoulder shifted a little, “Some aspects of it were pleasant, but as with all things, there are always some parts of duty that we might not like as well as the leisure activities that we would prefer.”

“Such being?”

She chewed, trying to think through his question, “Nothing comes to my mind presently,” she admitted after a moment, but I do not doubt you understand what I mean.”

“I do. I only ask because I am still learning about you,” Eomer’s smile was gentle, “and I have heard that asking questions is the easiest way to learn.”

She blushed a little under his unbreaking gaze, “Well, I am not terribly interesting.”

“If I may,” Eomer began, “I take false modesty as I take all lying, that is to say that I do not like it.”

Her brow furrowed, “I do not understand.”

“I understand that such things are common in Gondor, but I do not care for it,” Eomer said. There was no anger in his voice. He sounded more as if he was attempting to explain some cultural difference that he needed her to understand. “I think that you are interesting, and I would rather you not claim to be something other than what I find you to be.”

“Then, I am therefore to see myself, and describe myself as you see me?” she asked, an impertinent question, but having asked it, she watched him.

“I had not considered it in that way,” Eomer said, “Do you truly think that you are uninteresting?”

“I see myself no different than any other lady.”

“Do you think they are not interesting?” he leaned back in his chair, watching her, “I think that most people are interesting. We might all be similar in some ways, but for example, if a group of people each saw an event, each one would tell it differently.”

“I would not have taken you for a philosopher,” she teased him.

“One of my hidden talents,” Eomer smirked, “You will find I have many of them.”

She smiled, letting out a small, intrigued sound.

Eomer stood, smiling a little, “I regret to say I must leave you. The council will be waiting for me, I think,” he picked her hand up and kissed it, “Thank you for a lovely conversation.” There was something like mockery in his voice, but it was gentle, and teasing. He held her hand for a moment longer, squeezing it in his hold for a moment, and then he was gone.

She wondered if he had enjoyed talking to her, though their conversation had seemed a little strange to her. Eomer did not seem like a fool to her, but also did not seem like the sort of person that gave much consideration to people around him in some deep and thoughtful way. He seemed more comfortable not needing to be around people at all. She had been trying to work out how Eomer thought and had so far come to the conclusion that he was a kind and simple man.

She had always been good at reading people, and interpreting the best ways to manipulate them, but she had not felt the need to do so. This was not to say that she had not been making a careful study of the members of the court, feeling that it was better to be prepared rather than to be at the mercy of someone’s ambition. It would happen in time, she just needed to wait for it to come. People would want things of her, want to have her favor and aid in some plan or other, and she would need to be able to decide if she should involve herself or not.

Heohild’s entry pulled Lothiriel from her thoughts.

“Pardon my tardiness, my lady.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lothiriel said, her irritation at having been let to sleep too long had passed.

“You will need something warm, my lady,” Heohild smiled, apparently feeling rather embarrassed, “there is quite a chill in the air.”

“Indeed, I think I will need to have some winter clothes made,” Lothiriel sat at her vanity and began rubbing lotion into her hands.

Heohild chewed her lip.

“What?” Lothiriel asked, her hands slowing in her luxurious labor.

“It is nothing, my lady.”

Lothiriel raised a brow at her, the look demanding an answer.

The maid faltered, “I should not say,” her eyes held on the Queen and her fiercely direct look, “I do not think you should concern yourself with it.”

“And why is that?” The paranoid voice in her head whispered that she would not be in Rohan long enough to need such warm clothes, but Lothiriel tried to ignore it.

“My lady,” Heohild said, hesitantly, “I should not say, truly.”

“Spit it out.”

“There are some clothes that you might use,” Heohild said, avoiding having to answer the question, “I will speak to Mistress Gredda about it.”

“I might speak to her myself,” Lothiriel said, sighing, and certain she was going to receive no further answer, “I need to speak with her about the running of the house here.”

“Is everything alright?” Heohild asked, starting the process of styling Lothiriel’s hair.

“Yes, I just want to get a better sense of how the servants are managed and organized.”

Heohild’s fuzzy reflection nodded in the polished metal mirror.

“How do you find the Keeper of the King’s House?” Lothiriel asked, her own impression of the woman being that Mistress Gredda wanted to appear firm but fair. Lothiriel had met enough women like her that her stern countenance had little effect on the young Queen.

“She is not as frightening as she might want people to think,” Heohild said, noncommittally. “Though she seems to be the kind of woman that if you were to show her a little deference, would be your most loyal supporter.”

“Most people are like that,” Lothiriel muttered, dabbing some lavender scent to her wrists.

“True,” Heohild’s fingers shifted gently at Lothiriel’s hair to test that it would hold. She went to collect a warm dress from the dressing room.

0x0x0

Lothiriel maintained her posture, taking an imperceptible deep breath to calm herself a little, “Mistress Gredda, I am not questioning that you are capable, I am simply asking to understand the schedule as you have organized it.”

“I will not be spoken down to by…” Mistress Gredda’s eyes flashed and she bit back on an insult, remembering a moment late who it was she was speaking to.

“If you feel that I have spoken down to you, you have my apologies, but that is not my intention,” Lothiriel kept her voice level, “I am simply asking what the purpose is to having the servants’ meals set in the way that they are.”

“And accusing your servants of thievery.”

“I am simply pointing out that perhaps fewer loafs of bread might go missing if there were not so many hours between their midday meal and their evening meal.”

“And I am telling you that I have run this household longer than you have been alive.”

Lothiriel felt like screaming at the top of her lungs that she was aware of how young she was. The very idea that she was being chastised for speaking down to someone, and then to be spoken down to. “I am sorry to have wasted your time.” She stood, folding her hands before her and breezing out of the room before she lost her temper or her comportment. She left the housekeeping building and found herself further irritated that the kitchens and stores were not kept in the house, that there was not enough space in the great hall for anything besides the feast hall and the Royal suites. She had never in her life had to leave a residence to speak to the servants.

She almost slammed headlong into Lady Baldgwyn in the whirlwind of her rage.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Lady Baldgwyn curtsied, chuckling a little.

“it was my fault,” Lothiriel said, a little ashamed at not having paid any attention to her surroundings.

“I hope you will permit me… You seem to be in quite a temper.”

“It is nothing, my lady,” Lothiriel said, wondering if she had failed to put her mask back on correctly.

“Well, might I invite you to tea?” Lady Baldgwyn asked, gesturing to her house.

The excuse was on the tip of Lothiriel’s tongue, she could feel it, well-formed and beyond reproach, but it melted, “I would enjoy that, though I should warn you that I might not be in the most agreeable moods.”

“And that is why I offer,” Lady Baldgwyn smiled. There was something almost grandmotherly about the older woman, though she was still a little too young to be Lothiriel’s grandmother. Perhaps an aunt, but not one of the stern ones that told you to sit up straighter or commented on how much you had eaten.

In truth, Lothiriel had attempted to avoid the woman, initially thinking that she might be a spy for King Eomer, but then out of shame that she had thought it.

A servant took the woolen shawl from Lothiriel and Lady Baldgwyn showed her through to the sitting room. For a moment, Lothiriel could remember her family sitting about the space, polite, but the lot of them silently making their own judgements.

It was cozy, and a warm fire crackled away. Without thought Lothiriel found that she had drifted to the fire to warm her hands. “You have a lovely home, my lady.”

In truth besides the Royal Apartment, Lothiriel preferred Lady Baldgwyn’s house to her own. It was smaller than the hall, but seemed far more practical to habitation, and rather more lived in.

“Thank you.” Lady Baldgwyn said from where she sat the small table. “Tea will be a moment. I have a new girl, and bless her, she is still learning where everything is.”

“Is it difficult to manage servants here?” the question was out of Lothiriel’s mouth as a groaning complaint before she could stop it.

“We do things differently, and it can be difficult to find a way to work with old habits,” Lady Baldgwyn said, giving the point over, “Is that what has you so irritated?”

“I do not know that it is proper to so openly discuss such things,” Lothiriel replied.

“Likely not, but if you do not tell, then I certainly will not.” There was a wickedness in the smile Lady Baldgwyn gave her.

“I simply do not understand some of the scheduling decisions that Mistress Gredda has in place, and I tried to ask her about them.”

“And I suppose she took on the part of the wronged party?” Lady Baldgwyn looked up as a serving girl brought in a tray with a ceramic tea set on it.

Having delicately placed the tray on the table and having been assured that there was nothing further required of her, the girl left, closing the door behind her.

“I do not even know what offense I am meant to have given,” Lothiriel all but whispered, concerned that the girl might be listening at the door.

“I will deny it anyone ever asks me, but…” Lady Baldgwyn’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone, “Mistress Gredda is very protective of her staff, and takes even the smallest insurrection as a challenge to her authority.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Butter her up like a dinner roll.”

Lothiriel pursed her lips, “I am paying her salary, should she not do as I ask?”

Lady Baldgwyn fixed their tea, adding honey as Lothiriel asked before she went on, “That is the hard thing about habits, they are terribly difficult to break. We have not had a queen since Morwen Steelsheen. The late king’s wife died before he took the throne, and all of the duties fell on Mistress Gredda, who was new to the post.”

“Then the expectation is that I must adapt, but that no one else should?”

“I do not think that, I am only explaining where I think she is coming from.”

Lothiriel fidgeted, almost nervously, “I do not want to be a failure.” It was the first time she had said it aloud, and she did not know why.

Lady Baldgwyn’s looked at her sympathetically, “I do not think you will be. You seem well suited to the job. It is only that you are new to us, and that you have not had any upsets yet is rather a miracle.”

“I have only been here two weeks,” Lothiriel said, “I do not think that I should have had any upsets yet.”

The lady smiled, “Your temper will cool, and so will hers. You may not want to hear it, but it would be more beneficial to keep her on and to have her loyalty than the alternative.”

“I had not even considered removing her,” Lothiriel reassured Lady Baldgwyn, not certain why she cared what this woman thought when she actually considered it, but she did. She had not really spoken to anyone beyond polite small talk, but she had known that. It had been a conscious decision.

“It will be easier with time,” Lady Baldgwyn smiled gently, “and I hesitate to offer unasked for council…”

“No, please.”

“Have you made any friends, yet?”

The question chilled Lothiriel, “I have been meeting quite a few people, rather quickly.”

“I only think that perhaps it would be good for you,” Lady Baldgwyn said, her words leaving her a bit hastily, “You seem to be working so much, and that is right, but you must find some balance, or you will burn yourself out.”

Lothiriel could feel her face dropping a little, “I know.” She hesitated a moment, “There is the matter of my rank, and I do not want to put my trust in people that might want something from me.”

Lady Baldgwyn looked away, thoughtful and silent for a moment, “I know a few young ladies that you have made the acquaintance of, and if you wish I could have them come for tea and you can get to know them better in a social setting.”

A small red flag waved in Lothiriel’s head. What better way could one manipulate a person than by deciding who their friends were? It could be a way for this woman to express some influence over Lothiriel, but it did seem as though she wanted to help.

“Thank would be lovely, thank you.” Lothiriel smiled, intrigued to see what would come of this, if anything.

0x0x0

It was not entirely appropriate for a Queen to apologize, let alone to a servant, but if she did not, Lothiriel was certain that she was going to have even more of an uphill battle than she might have already had ahead of her.

She left Eomer’s side at table with a quick excuse and went with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, going to catch up with Mistress Gredda where she was speaking with one of the serving girls.

“Mistress, might I have a word?” Lothiriel said, in her most regal voice.

The woman looked at her a moment before sending the serving girl away with a look, “Of course, my lady queen. How may I serve you?”

“I wished to express my regret over the way that I spoke today,” Lothiriel composed her face into the very image of contrition. People sometimes thought she appeared younger than her twenty-one years, and it could be seen as a gift in that people did not want to be too cross with her for long.

“There is no need for apologies,” Mistress Gredda said with a clipped tone.

“I should, though, for I was wrong. I did not speak to you with the respect you deserve. I have been trying to learn the best way to run this household, and I cannot do that without your help and guidance.” It was a well-placed compliment, and Lothiriel watched the old servant soften.

The cold and distant look in Mistress Gredda’s face melted, “I have been rather used to managing things in my own way, my lady, but you are now mistress of this estate. I should make the apologies for not better explaining myself.”

“I should like us to be as friends,” Lothiriel said, hesitantly, “and that we would work together.”

Mistress Gredda was looking over the young queen, analyzing her, and seeing that there was strength in her behind her fear and apologies. “If you will come to my office tomorrow morning, I will explain all the schedules to you, and we will see where we might improve them.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Lothiriel smiled.

“Your Grace,” Mistress Gredda smiled back, a kindly if wizened look. She curtsied.

Lothiriel went back to the table, doing her best not to feel smug at having slayed the dragon that would keep her from doing her household duties. It had not been as painful as Lothiriel had imagined. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda nervous about this chapter.

Lothiriel blushed a little as Eomer stood to pull the chair out for her and settled her back in place once she had sat.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Eomer asked, a small furrow in his brow as he looked at her.

“Only a minor household matter,” Lothiriel smiled, nothing to trouble you with, my lord.”

“Tell me, anyway,” Eomer said, as if he was asking her to pass the salt. He turned his attention back to his plate.

Lothiriel sat watching him tear at his venison, still in awe at how much the man ate. She hesitated, “I had a misunderstanding with Mistress Gredda, and was reconciling it.”

“What was the misunderstanding?”

Lothiriel let out a sigh, “We might have quarreled a little over the scheduling of the servants.” She heard him choking, as the food in his mouth went down the wrong way.

Eomer cleared his throat with a swig of ale, “You did?”

“We have sorted it out,” Lothiriel said quickly, embarrassed that she had not behaved.

“Undoubtedly you have,” Eomer chuckled, “but I would have expected such reconciliations to have come with more quarreling, perhaps to the point of fists.”

“I never have struck a person!” Lothiriel protested.

“Never?” Eomer raised a brow at his wife.

“My brothers do not count… and my governess, and… I have only ever struck people that deserved it…”

Eomer laughed, taking her hand in his, “I knew you had a fighting spirit, but I am pleased that you have made peace with Gredda. I have seen war, and I certainly do not want it under my roof.”

“You fear the quarrels of women the same way that you fear a battle of men?”

“I suppose I do, but I should say that I do not fear battle.”

Lothiriel took in the way that he looked at her and decided to say what she thought of, “Is it true that you are still afraid of the cook?”

“Who told you that?” Eomer’s eyes narrowed at her.

She froze, “I do not recall, it was some teasing gossip, I think…”

Eomer shook his head, smiling a little, “I do not fear her.”

“But she scolded you terribly?”

He settled back in his seat, looking at her, “She used to leave out any cakes or pies that did not look proper to be served for myself and my sister, and really any of the other children in the hall. I knocked over a tray of pies that had been good enough.”

Lothiriel listened, leaning on the arm of her chair. “Well in that case, I understand Mistress Tildweth’s irritation.”

“That would be putting it mildly,” Eomer chuckled, “she dragged me to my mother by my ear.”

“How old were you?”

“I think I was about seven, or so,” he smiled.

“The one great thing in growing older is that we do not live at the mercy of other’s disciplinary natures.”

“How do you mean?”

“I have a governess that was as given to thrashing as your goodly cook,” Lothiriel said quietly, not wanting to be overheard.

Eomer’s head tilted at little, “Mistress Tildweth gave my hand a smack and told my mother that I’d had enough sweets for the day.”

Lothiriel’s face fell, “I had thought…”

“We do not beat our children,” Eomer said.

“Ever?”

Eomer hesitated, “Not viciously…” he looked about quickly, “My lady wife, your governess-”

“It is nothing to think of,” Lothiriel smiled, looking back at her plate. She had spoken too freely, and regretted it.

“Perhaps it is not, but I should still like to know. Was she not kind to you?”

Lothiriel took a drink, not wanting to answer the question.

His hand squeezed hers, searching her blank face. He hated the moments when they were in the sight of others. She always affected a disinterested and offhand air, and he hated it, even as he understood it.

“I do not know that such a discussion is entirely appropriate, especially in so public a place.”

“No one can hear us,” Eomer said, looking over the small crowd of his lords and their wives and children.

“She disciplined me to improve me,” Lothiriel said in a low voice, “but no, she was not very kind, unless someone was there to see it.”

“You did not deserve that.”

“I was rather a handful.”

“You were a child, they are by their nature handfuls,” Eomer said.

When she finally looked at him, she found a firm look on his face, his brow set in a dark way. He looked as if he pitied her, and was angry to do so.

“You know that you deserved better, do you not?” he asked.

“It was so long ago, that I hardly recall it at all,” Lothiriel smiled. She could see the questions that he wanted to ask, and she was thankful that he kept them silent. She did not want to become to tragic figure in his eyes. “How was your day, my lord? You have not told me what you have spent your hours doing.”

“Council meetings that never end,” Eomer replied gently, “We are looking into the best crops to plan in the Westfold Settlements when they are rebuilt.”

Lothiriel smiled, listening to his tired explanations of crops and sowing with the same animation that might be expected in a pupil who half-heartedly learned his lesson for the sake of its repetition and no other reason.

That night, they retired to their bed, and went through their nightly routine. Eomer braided her hair and she did her duties, which seemed to her less and less like a duty. She still feared that she was becoming indecent in her marriage bed, though Eomer said nothing on the matter, and did not seemed of a mind to cast her aside for her wantonness, the closest thing he came to mentioning it was the knowing smirk that he gave her sometimes.

Lothiriel curled up beside Eomer, knowing that he liked it, and she did as well, though she did not want to admit it. There was something sweet in the way that he held her, nestling his face into her hair, and whispering sweet nothings to her. She would lose her heart to him, if she did not mind its keeping.

He kissed her brow, turning her face up to his gaze. He held her face in his hand, his thumb stroking her cheek.

She looked at him, waiting for him to speak, “Eomer?”

“I like hearing my name on your lips,” he smiled, “I like your company.”

“I do want to be a good wife to you,” she murmured in reply.

He traced his fingers over the shape of her cheek, smiling, “Thus far you certainly have been one.”

She smiled a little anxiously, wondering he had had some complaint that he had not yet seen fit to lodge. “Then you do not regret marrying me?”

“Not in the least, dear,” he kissed her brow and settled back against his pillow, pulling her tight against him.

She rested her chin on his chest, studying him as he relaxed to sleep before remembering herself. She was becoming rather comfortable with her husband and needed to remember herself. He was a good man, and sometimes she forgot that she was a queen first and foremost, and that her husband was a king.

If he had other women, he hid them well, for she had not seen any evidence of them at all. But then, who could know such things. She had always thought her brother was a faithful man, save for the times at which his wife was in her confinements. Such affairs were acceptable, and even expected, and Elphir was only their father’s heir thus far. Eomer was a king, and she should expect him to behave in the same manner, especially when she was with child.

She already doubted that she could be able to hold his interest forever, but she would enjoy it so long as she had it.

0x0x0

Lady Baldgwyn’s idea of having some of the women that she held in her esteem come for tea had been implemented and was not a complete mess. Lothiriel wondered if the entire arrangement had been put in place because the women had wanted to finally know if they would be told if they might expect to socialize in the Queen’s Solar.

There was pleasant chatter and some gossip, and eventually Lothiriel began extending invitations to some of the women to sit with her and do their women’s work. She was not the best at making shirts, but still she tried it, doing her best not to ask for help because she did not want to seem stupid.

It was a wife’s duty to make her husband’s shirts, and Lady Baldgwyn had explained that gently, though Heohild had already told her so. It had occurred to her as she sewed that Eomer already had shirts, and that someone must have been making them. The question was who had done it before her.

0x0x0

Lothiriel sat up in the bed, watching her husband in his dressing, and smiled at the startled look on her face.

“Well, this is something remarkable!” he smiled, “Lothiriel Queen awakens on her own! Is this some omen?”

She rolled her eyes at him, laying back down, “And I had a mind to give you a gift.”

“What gift is that?” he asked.

“Oh, I shall not give it to you, as you are being so unkind,” she pulled the covers over her shoulder, rolling her back to him.

Eomer’s smile widened as he crossed back into the bed chamber and climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hand over the shape of her hip, “I promise to behave.”

“I do not believe you,” she turned her head to look at him.

She had a beauty that he could not define. He wondered if it was her youthfulness, but upon the briefest reflection, it was not that. Perhaps it was sentimental, but he felt like there was a light in her, and that he could see it in these brief moments where she did not feel the need to hide behind manners.

That arrant curl that always slipped free was resting on her brow, and he reached out without hesitation to brush it aside, “Please, dear? The curiosity will likely drive me mad.”

She sighed, sitting back up, “Well, I must advise you to lower your expectations, as it is nothing so grand as you might think.” Her nightgown had slipped on her shoulder, and she reached quickly to right it as she climbed down from the high bed and went over to the little basket that she kept her sewing in. She shifted a few pieces of fabric before returning to him with a small folded parcel.

Taking it, Eomer beamed, “Is this for me?”

“It is the first shirt that I have ever made, so if I have done terribly, I beg you to burn it and never tell anyone.”

“I will not,” he said affronted by the idea. It looked to be the right size, and pulling it over his head, he found that the sleeves were the perfect length. “The sleeves are even!”

Lothiriel laughed before clasping a hand to her mouth to stop herself, “I had not realized that your expectations were _that_ low!”

“I beg your pardon, but my sister used to be tasked with it, and hated it so much that I had to pay someone,” Eomer blushed a little, looking at the faint embroidery of swirling patterns at the cuff of his shirt, “It is so beautifully made.”

She shook her head, lifting herself back up onto the bed as gracefully as she could manage on her short legs, “Well, I am pleased you like it.”

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, “Thank you.”

Had there been a time where he had been so casually happy? He could not recall it. He had expected his marriage to require more work than it had. He had thought that she might be a cold and distant woman, and that she might stare down her nose at him, though he had never admitted it. He had thought that he would spend more time trying to convince her to trust him, and that they would not be able to speak to each other so easily or tease each other. She brought a lightness out in him that he had forgotten that he still had.

She was such a dear and sweet woman, and he felt himself tumbling into love with her without any hesitation or cause that he could think of to stop himself. It was so simple, and he felt blessed.

Stroking his thumbs against her cheeks, he watched her face, “I will call for some food to be brought, and we can eat together, unless you would rather crawl back under the covers.”

She reached up and pushed his hair back from his face, “I suppose I am awake enough to eat.”

0x0x0

In truth, Lothiriel found herself rather trusting Lady Baldgwyn. Not enough to divulge any information about her relationship with the King, but enough that she felt as close to comfortable with any member of the court as she had been since her arrival. It had occurred to her of course that she had never been able to confirm that Lady Baldgwyn was or was not her husband’s spy, but she countered that point with the fact that if she was a spy, it was better to keep her where Lothiriel could see her.

It could also only benefit her to be friends with the older lady, whether she was reporting on Lothiriel or not. At the very least, she knew that she was close to Eomer in some way, but she had never asked what the relationship was. Perhaps she was an aunt or a cousin of some sort. She knew well enough that she had relations though the court at Minas Tirith that she barely knew.

The other women that she invited were kindly enough but studied her carefully. Lothiriel had been convinced to extend an invitation to Eothain’s wife, having been told that the King’s Guard had newly come to the position, and that his promotion had been due to his friendship and loyalty to Eomer King. Eomer himself had suggested it, wanting them to get along, and Lothiriel had no true complaints of the woman, at least any complaints that Mistress Waerhild could rectify.

Lothiriel did not consider herself a snob, but she was waiting for someone to start a rumor that the queen was an egalitarian. It was not entirely untrue, but she did dislike being told who she should be friends with.

On the bright side, Mistress Waerhild brought her son with her, and Eobrand was adorable. If anyone ever saw Lothiriel cooing over the babe, she was not sure what they would think of her. The only thing that would likely baffle the gossips more was Eomer’s interactions with the child, as he always clamored to hold the baby. Lothiriel would keep his secret, but it did warm her heart a little. She wondered how far he would embarrass himself for his own children, their children.

She had taken to hoping that she might not yet be with child, a hope that she knew was wicked, and self-serving, but an honest one at least. If she was to get with child at so early a state in their marriage, she would have influence and stability of a sort, but not built of anything more than duty.

It was a foolish thing to hope for, and she never mentioned it aloud to anyone, but she had begun to wish that her husband might come to love her in some way. It ran counter to everything that she had accepted about her life, and what her marriage would mean. Even before she had discovered the plot to marry her off to Rohan for the sake of an alliance, she had put away the childish notion of a loving marriage.

The problem was that her husband had not been what she had been led to expect. He was not as grim faced and irritable in her presence as she had seen him in Gondor, nor was there anything in the gentle and kind way he treated her that made her think of the stories of violence and valor that everyone had told her to assure her that her marriage was an honor.

When they were together, away from the eyes of the court, he was a different person, almost as if passing through that threshold removed some spell, and she found herself smiling at him, and him smiling in return.

It was dangerous for a queen to give her heart to anyone, even her to husband. He was a man, and men were not always to be counted upon when one sought out fidelity. If she felt too much affection, she would have to then accept whatever she would feel when his attention strayed.

His kindness made it difficult for her to remember what the point had been in sending her to the Mark in the first place. She had for a few days forgotten that she was there to ensure diplomatic relations between their countries.

0x0x0

She remembered it when she awoke one morning and had no idea where it was that she was meant to go for her seclusion.

Eomer had already risen and set about his duties and his day, so she could not ask him, even if she could have gotten the nerve up to mention it.

“Heohild,” Lothiriel called as her maid went to fetch her dressing gown from where Eomer had tossed it the night before.

“Yes, my lady?”

Lothiriel got out of the bed, and looked back at the stain in the bedlinens, she stared at it a moment and that at Heohild.

“I will have fresh linens brought, my lady,” Heohild assured her, “and I will fetch your personal affects.”

“Thank you, but…” Lothiriel could not quite think of how to ask the question, even with Heohild knowing the customs of Gondor on such matters, having attended Lothiriel before the wedding.

Heohild smiled sympathetically, “My lady, it may be forward for me to say, but I doubt anyone would expect a bairn so early in your marriage.”

“It is not that…” Lothiriel bit her lips together, “I do not know where I am meant to sequester myself.”

The realization hit the maid like a stone to her face, “My lady, we do not do such things here.”

“You mean that women simply carry on? In public?”

“If they wish. I know there have been times when the curse has made it hard for me to work,” Heohild said carefully, “but ladies do not sequester themselves away during their womanly times.”

Lothiriel stared at her, not certain what she was meant to make of this, “Well, I am not… I cannot…” she faltered, “I will speak to the King about this matter, and I will stay here today.”

Heohild nodded through her misgivings. It was not her place to tell the Queen what to do. It was not her place to tell her that such behavior would be seen as strange. “Yes, my lady. Is there anything you need?”

“You might bring my sewing. I had wanted to see if I could finish another shirt today.” She did her best not to wince as a cramp hit her.

“Yes, my lady.” She would need to figure out the excuses she would make to explain Lothiriel Queen’s absence.

0x0x0

Eomer went to their chambers to bring Lothiriel to the evening meal, and found her sitting by the hearth, sewing, and still in her nightclothes. “Are you well?” he asked, feeling her brow and the side of her neck to feel her temperature, fearing that she might have taken a chill.

She shifted away from his hand, “I am, but I need to ask where I am to go during my…” she gestured vaguely.

“I do not understand,” Eomer crouched beside her, looking at her intently, smoothing his hand over her arm. “What is it?”

Lothiriel moved her arm out of his grasp, “I am having my womanly times.”

“Oh,” He relaxed, “Is that all?”

Lothiriel stared at him for a moment, “Yes. I was not sure where I was meant to stay.”

“Why would you go anywhere?” he asked, confused.

“I cannot stay in our bed,” she said as if it was the most absurd thing that had ever been proposed.

“Why not? You are my wife, and your place is with me.”

She stared at him, “It isn’t seemly for an unclean woman to be among people.”

His head tilted a little, before chuckling “Lothiriel, you are not… unclean. There is nothing wrong with you!” He got up from his crouching position, his knee complying with come complaint. It was going to be a cold night. He sat in his chair before pulled it closer to her and leaned forward.

“It is the way that things are done in Gondor, and the way that I have always done them,” she replied, still watching him. She had waited all day for a chance to speak to him, and she only wanted to lie down, and to stop pretending that she was not in pain.

“I understand that, but you are not in Gondor. If you need to rest, as some women do in these times, then by all means do.”

She stared at him, trying to find the words to explain to him how improper it was. It struck her that she did not in truth know why it was that women went into seclusion, but in her experience, it had always been a rather comfortable existence, and she had never needed to explain that. There was something deeply comforting about not needing to be troubled when she was irritable and cramping. Her place in his bed was reserved with the purpose of producing an heir. She could not at present be expected to fulfill that expectation, so why should she stay where she had these last weeks?

“I would rather take my seclusion, my lord,” she said after a moment, suppressing a wince at the stabbing pain in her belly

“Then, I am to be denied the company of my wife for one week of every month?” Eomer asked, his voice raising a little at the stupidity of this conversation. He felt frustration knotting in his stomach. He stood, moving back toward her. He had never been terribly good with words, having preferred for most of his life to let his actions speak for him.

He had until this moment felt as if he was able to explain himself easily to her. Until the moment that he stood, leaning toward her and she flinched. He had never raised his voice at her before this conversation, let alone his hand, and she recoiled as if she though he had meant to strike her. That realization made his blood run cold.

Did she still fear him? They had lived together for almost three weeks and had been happy through that entire time. He couldn’t make sense of it, but she seemed to feel as poorly about it as he did. Regret seared itself across her face and she stared back at him.

He clenched his hand for a moment before composing himself, “I would rather you stay with me but if that would so discomfort you, then you may of course do as you please. The guest room should be quite comfortable.”

The words seemed to calm her, and she smiled up at him, a little timidly.

“But I would ask that you consider not doing so in future,” Eomer said, choosing his words, “You are a woman of the Riddermark now, and I should hope that in time you…” he was not sure what he hoped for, rather he was not certain how to say what he hoped. He hoped that she would feel that she was safe with him, and that she would adapt to her new country.

He knew that she had been doing so much to learn everything that came with her new station, and he did not expect her to change herself entirely for his benefit. But this one thing, this one cultural difference seemed so beyond what he could accept that even as he allowed it, he felt completely unsure of what he could say that would not be seen as an insult to her culture.

She stared back at him, her face screwing up for a moment before she cleared her throat, “My lord husband, I will consider what you have said, but I must beg your pardon. Will you excuse me?”

He nodded, watching her leave their rooms, and wanting to drag her back by her arm, but he watched her go, and clenched his fist again. He waited a few minutes before going to table alone.

He had thought that with his marriage, he would not need to be so alone.

When he had eaten, he left the hall, and went back to their empty chambers, feeling the chill in the air, and for a moment, he stood at a loss for what he should do.

How was it that in only three weeks, he had become so accustomed to their routines, and to having her there. As he lay in the large, empty bed, staring across the fresh linens, he felt himself reaching out as if in reaching over her side of the bed, he would find her there, smiling and telling him that it had been a joke. His hand found only the soft weave of the bedsheets, and he smoothed his fingers over them. A deep longing panged in him and he rolled onto his back, trying to sleep, wanting to get through the next week without too much self-pity.

0x0x0

Lothiriel wished she had expressed herself better, and that she hadn’t pulled away from him without explaining, but then if she had spoken openly of her condition, he would have likely been repulsed by it. Every woman that had ever spoken of that matter to her had told her that men could not handle hearing of such things.

But it seemed to upset him that she had wanted to take her solitude, and she understood a little. If it was not so foreign a concept to her, she might have accepted. Part of her certainly had wanted to, but then she would risk him thinking her weak.

The headaches that came on and the pain below her belly all but rendered her useless, and it was better to hide such things some place comfortable until it passed.

She adjusted the warm cloth on her brow, wincing a little at the little light that slid in through the curtains. These migraines would be the death of her, she thought. Perhaps some mention of these things should have been put into her marriage contract so that Eomer would have known what a burden he was taking on.

That thought, that one invasive thought pressed at the back of her mind, no matter how hard she fought it.

Her husband was a king, and he was a man, and men had needs.

She had always thought her brother a good husband. Everyone had always touted this fact, holding it up as the greatest honor. Erchirion’s words of concern for their brother’s marriage needled at her.

She had a good husband of her own, but how could she think that she would be enough?

0x0x0

By the second night, Eomer had moved past the point of sadly accepting that his wife needed some time away from him, and that she needed her privacy. Having passed that into irritation, he knew that he needed to talk to someone, and vent out what felt like a betrayal.

He knocked at the door, waiting a little anxiously. He half expected Gamling to leap out of the shadows and scold him for leaving the hall without a guard.

Eothain opened the door, and his look of confusion melted into a smile, “My lord, King! What a great honor.”

“Oh, shut it, and let me in,” Eomer scoffed, “I brought whiskey, and I need to talk.”

“Well, in that case, you may enter! We already ate, but if you want something-”

“No, thank you,” Eomer smiled, “Good evening, Waerhild.”

Eothain’s wife smiled, a wide grin of acceptance, but she also stacked her nice ceramics carefully into a cabinet. “How are you doing?”

Eomer let out a groan and settled into a chair, and pulled the cork free of the bottle, waiting for Eothain to bring the cups. “I promised not to break any more of your plates, goodwife!”

“Of course, but call it a precaution,” Waerhild called, “Not all of us can so easily replace things.”

“You wound me,” Eomer smiled.

“You break another one of my dishes, and I just might.”

“Now, my darling wife,” Eothain beamed, setting the cups down, “It is likely treason to threaten the king with bodily harm.”

“I shall pardon you,” Eomer poured a few healthy shares of the whiskey, “But I mean need to get out of the hall for a time.”

“Is everything alright?”

Eomer looked at Waerhild for a moment, wondering if Lothiriel had told her where she had been the last two days. “It is, I just… did not realize how much I would miss my wife.”

“I had not realized that she left the hall,” Waerhild said, “Where has she gone?”

Then she had not told anyone of her plan. He knew that Lothiriel had begun spending time with Waerhild and the other women, and he thought that they would get along rather well, but clearly, she had not felt it appropriate to take them into her confidences.

“She is having her monthlies,” Eomer said, “and it seems that in Gondor women are locked away at such times and do not enter society.”

“Your wife is hidden away during her monthlies?” Eothain smirked, “Do you even know how lucky you are?”

Waerhild smacked the back of his head, even knowing full well that he didn’t really mean it.

Eothain grinned up at her, “I mean, how terrible! What would possess a people to be so heartless?”

She shook her head at him.

Eomer liked watching them together. His friend had loved his wife since they were children, and they were still the same way with each other, the teasing playfulness was always there.

“I only jest,” Eothain said, “I cannot imagine being parted from my wife for any amount of time.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “You must help me,” he raised his voice, “She is simply the best woman,” he whispered again, “I am in danger. She will kill me in my sleep.”

Eomer laughed, “If you speak of her in such a way, I would not doubt it.”

Eothain chuckled, sitting back, “Perhaps Her Grace is simply overwhelmed and needs some time to decompress.”

“That is the most sensible thing you have said in years.”

“I am not only the fool, you know,” Eothain smirked, “But I mean it in truth. You must recognize how much change she had been experiencing.”

“Of course, I understand it,” Eomer rolled his eyes.

Eothain nodded for a moment, “How is your plan of wooing the Queen proceeding?”

Eomer’s mouth opened and closed for a moment, “In truth I have not… we have gotten on rather well, and I had not thought it needed.”

“Wait, you mean to say that you have all but acted as though you have already done?” Waerhild asked, reappearing from wherever she had gone, staring at him.

“It hadn’t felt entirely necessary,” Eomer explained.

She hovered beside him, staring. For a moment she had meant to slap the side of his head, but now he was King of Rohan, and she was not entirely certain that it was proper, “Then you have simply been treating your wife as a woman that you already know?”

“I do know her!” Eomer snapped, feeling rather attacked.

“What is her favorite color?” Eothain asked, smirking and refilling his cup.

Eomer thought a moment, “Blue? I think… she wears it most oft.”

“That is because it is her family’s color,” Waerhild crossed her arms, “Light blue and silver for Dol Amroth, and dark blue and grey for the House of Stewards, with whom she has lived the last six years.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked her why all of her dresses were blue,” Waerhild smiled smugly at him, uncrossing her arms.

“She might still favor the color,” Eomer said lamely.

Eothain and Waerhild exchanged a look for a long moment, and eventually Waerhild waved a hand, dismissing whatever she had thought to say. She sat by her husband’s side and accepted the cup from him.

“Have you at least told her that you that you are sweet on her?” Eothain asked.

“She knows,” Eomer answered.

“Does she?”

“I told her that I enjoyed her company.”

Eothain laughed as his wife as Waerhild rubbed at her brow and took a drink. The guard had known Eomer since childhood and was always amused by his inability to learn from his mistakes. “Eomer, my lord, I have never in my life met a man so keen on falling in love, and at the same time so incapable of admitting it to the target of his affections.”

“Do not mock me!” Eomer leaned forward.

“Do you want help or not?”

“Well, I can hardly do anything while Lothiriel is in her ‘seclusion’,” the idea formed, and Eomer felt like a fool for not having considered it sooner, “Waerhild, you are a woman, and so she might admit you into her rooms-”

“No,” Waerhild stared at him.

“Damn,” Eomer slumped back, “Well, alright since you are so keen to help, Eothain, what do you suggest?”

“Well,” Eothain sat up, pleased to be consulted, “First I would advise you to do your best to not let your wife lock herself in a room for a week after this point. But you seem to think this whole situation is harder to sort out than it is. Simply tell your wife that you have feelings for her and woo her as you should have done in the first place.”

Waerhild hesitated a moment before she spoke, “I do not know the Queen well, but I have found her rather shy, as if she is expecting everyone to dislike her.”

“Why should anyone dislike her?” Eomer asked, having never thought that she was anything but confident.

“She left her family and everything that she has ever known,” Waerhild said, “And if I may speak freely as my fool of a husband…”

Eomer gestured for her to go on.

“The marriage bed is different for women, especially considering that the Queen hardly knew you before the wedding,” Waerhild was trying to find the best way to express what she has thought had happened, “It might be possible that Lothiriel Queen might feel pressured to oblige her duties, at least what her people might have told her was a duty.”

That had never really occurred to him, “I told her that she had no such obligation.”

“And she is not, but who knows what her kin told her,” Eothain interjected.

“Her family was rather strange about the marriage,” Eomer admitted, thinking about how he had failed in his own responsibilities.

Eothain took a breath, “what my wife is trying to say, and is being far too subtle in doing, is that you should stop thinking with your cock.”

Eomer stared at his oldest and closest friend, wondering if that was how it appeared to everyone else. “I assure you that I have not acted so terribly as that.”

“No, but it takes more to build a relationship than physical attraction and banter,” Eothain said, serious, “And I love you as I would a brother, but I know you well enough to know that you can at times be blinded by the physical.”

0x0x0

“Heohild,” Eomer called after the maid, “I wanted to ask you for yet more help.”

“Yes, my lord king?” Heohild smiled a little wearily.

“How is my wife?”

“Tired, she has a migraine.”

That was easier than he had expected but he guessed that such information was only given out of some level of exasperation as Heohild’s face fell a moment after she had spoken.

Eomer nodded solemnly, “I had wanted to send Her Grace some flowers, but I confess that I was not sure what she would like.”

Heohild smiled gently, “She favors the color yellow, though she does not wear it oft, as she thinks most shades do not compliment her skin tone. She likes roses and has a fondness for lavender.”

It felt a little like cheating, and Eomer wondered if Lothiriel would scold her handmaid for speaking out of turn, but he did not care too terribly at present. “Is there anything else that I might send to help?”

“In truth, there is little to be done at present.”

“Thank you, I will see to it,” Eomer nodded and went on his way.

0x0x0

The next day, Lothiriel peered at the servants, a little confused by Heohild’s directing of them about the room, “What is this?”

“Eomer King thought that some flowers might cheer you,” Heohild replied with a small smile as the vases were set about the room, “And he instructed me to bring you some fresh sweet breads.”

A few flowers would have been acceptable, and she would have still thought it a bit odd that he had thought to send them, but it looked as if he had bought every yellow rose in the kingdom for her. She smiled, sitting up and looking around her as soon as the servants were gone, and she was alone with her handmaid.

The cramps had not been as torturous this day, and she stood to look around her, running a finger over the petals of one of the roses, “What a strange man I have married…” she muttered to herself.

“I think, my lady, that the King is quite taken with you.”

She turned to look at Heohild, smirking a little, “I have another leg, if you would wish to pull that one as well.”

Heohild faltered, “I only speak truly, my lady. The court is full of talk, and it is said that he is missing you terribly.”

What her husband had been up to in the few days that she had been in the guest room had occupied her thoughts, but she had tried to stop herself as far as she was able. She had taken to wondering if Eomer had used the opportunity to spend time with other ladies but hadn’t asked.

She had heard a few of the King’s friend’s teasing him about his feelings for his wife after the wedding and had taken his quiet smile for discomfort. Eomer had not said anything of the sort to her, and she had not asked, not wanting to hear the answer. She feared that if he did not have such feelings that he would either lie, or the more likely case in her opinion, tell her so.

But these sweet gestures made her question her certainty that she was simply friends with her husband. Sending dozens of flowers seemed to be more than what one would do for a friend.

And he had noticed that she favored yellow, though she could not imagine how he had done it.

0x0x0

Eomer stood at the door, staring at it for a moment, and not certain what should stop him from walking through it, besides his wife’s expectations and wishes. He did not want to push her too hard to put aside her own culture, but in the five days that had passed, he missed her. He wondered if she preferred her solitude, knowing full well that it was not uncommon for noble couples in Gondor to keep separate rooms. Perhaps he would have done better to ask her if she had wanted such accommodations as they came to know each other.

He opened the door carefully and herded Caelon through the narrow opening, “Go on,” he urged, pushing at the dog’s hip, trying to force him through.

Caelon looked back at him, not certain what it was that his master was trying to do. After a moment of ignorance, or stubbornness, he assented and went through, letting out a quick bark at the sight of Lothiriel and bounded up on the bed.

Eomer listened to her laughing voice, hesitating in closing the door again. He hoped for a moment that she would call out, but she seemed to have all of her attentions focused on their dog.

He smiled to himself as he listened to her praising Caelon and laughing, then he closed the door, and stood, listening.

Lothiriel looked at the door as it closed and felt something that she could not quite put into words. It was strange to her that he had stayed away, but that he had still thought of her. She wondered if he was the shadow that stretched under the door.

She stood carefully and went to press her hand against the smooth wood of boundary, and pressed her forehead against it for a moment, “Thank you.”

Eomer stared back at the door, not able to think of anything to say besides, “Of course.”


	7. Chapter 7

When it was finally and certainly over, Lothiriel bathed and left the guest rooms, trying to decide what to do with the field of roses that were still in good condition. She had a few vases put in the rooms that she shared with her husband, and a few in her solar. When they began to wilt, she would dry some of them to keep as a memento.

In truth, she still was still not entirely certain what to make of the things that Eomer had sent. He seemed to genuinely care for her comfort and had been so concerned that she might be lonely that he had sent Caelon to her. She had tried not to imagine him pining over her as Heohild had told her he had, but the image had crept into her mind all the same.

The door opened behind her and she turned to look at her husband, “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Eomer smiled, “Good afternoon, my lady.” He stood a moment, looking at her before crossing the room and embraced her. He had to stoop and bend to nestle his face into the crook of her neck.

After the shock of it wore off, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” he whispered into her damp hair, smelling the lavender and lilac oil that Heohild had combed into it, and smiled that she had used the scent that he had bought her.

She felt his words in her chest, and smiled, “I was not gone so long as that.”

He pulled back and looked at her, “I am trying to understand your ways, but I would rather you not secret yourself away from me again.”

“My lord…”

He ran a thumb over her bottom lip, “I cannot know you if I cannot see you or spend any time with you.”

Her brow furrowed a little, not certain what she should say to him. She wanted to know what it was that he wanted her to say. “Thank you for everything that you sent. You needn’t have gone to such trouble.”

“It was no trouble,” he moved his arms to drape around her shoulders, his wrists crossing behind her neck. “Anything you want is yours. You have but to ask.” He studied her gently, “Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

He nodded, “I have some time to myself, and I should like to spend it with you, if you would allow.”

It was such an oddly worded request, and Lothiriel was not sure what to make of it. They were married, and he had every right to assert his expectations. He had always been kind to her, and perhaps a little too familiar, but he seemed to have regressed into some sort of nervousness.

“Of course,” she smiled, “I want to hear about how you have been keeping yourself in my absence.” She finally pulled free of his embrace, and went to sit by the hearth, where two chairs had been set before she had even come to live here. She took her seat, adjusting her skirts around her. She could feel Eomer watching her and she blushed a little at his attention. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her, as if they had not lived together for a little over two weeks before her seclusion. She looked up at him, confused by his gaze.

He had not moved from where he had held her, smiling a little and folding his hands behind his back. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” her gaze dropped. Heohild had brought her things back to the room while Lothiriel had been at her bath, and now Lothiriel picked up one of her sewing projects. “Will you sit?”

Eomer started a little and walked over to the empty chair, as if he had forgotten what it was that he had asked of her. He settled down, folding his hands over his stomach.

“How have you been the last few days?” Lothiriel asked, wanting him to feel comfortable. It occurred to her for the first time that though Lady Eowyn had warned her that Eomer could be quiet, and had some shyness in his nature, Lothiriel had never before seen any sign of that. In truth, she had considered the warning to be false, not having thought that Eomer seemed at all uncomfortable in his hall, or with his people. Was he feeling shy now?

“Trying to keep myself occupied,” he admitted, a small smile playing at his lips, “I have been trying to focus on my work, but when that is all that one has to do, it is hardly a comfort.”

“How do you mean?”

Eomer thought for a long moment, “I was in truth rather lonely without you.”

For a moment, she could not decide what she should say. “I am sorry to hear that you have been so displeased.”

“It is not that, but I would hope that we might…” his hopes evaded his words, and he could not think out what it was he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her than he liked her in a way that was more than friendly, and that he hoped that she felt the same, but if she did not respond in kind, he was not certain that he could stand it.

Lothiriel stared at him, waiting for him to finish the thought, but as the silence stretched out, she kept her smile in place, “I will try to fulfill your expectations.”

Eomer grimaced, not certain of what she though his ‘expectations’ were, “I do like you, Lothiriel.”

She smiled, “Thank you.”

Eomer face fell a little, not sure how he could ask her to tell him that she felt the same.

“You are an extraordinarily kind man,” Lothiriel said, “and I appreciate all that you have done.”

“I have not done as much as I should have,” Eomer said, fully expecting some breath of irritable relief to leave her, but watched her smile widen.

“You are a quite decent man,” Lothiriel smiled back at him. She reached slowly and took his hand. She had never done so before, she realized. Had he found her distant? She still felt unsure as to what was acceptable, and what he might want her to be. She had thrown herself into her duties and the household, and not considered whether or not he might like her to be more affectionate. It was not entirely outside of her nature to be so, but she hardly knew her husband.

Eomer’s face softened as she held his hand in hers, and he looked at those hands clasped together. “I want you to be happy with me.”

“I am sure I will be,” she replied.

Waerhild’s sentiments echoed in the back of his mind, and he knew that he should abide them. He knew that he should give Lothiriel more time and let her set the pace of their relationship. But he felt a sudden desire to wrap himself around her and never let go. It was far too early in their relationship to feel this way, he knew, but he still felt it.

He kissed her fingers gingerly, “I have some things for you. They are not all finished, but those that are…” he hesitated for a moment and stood suddenly. “Come.” He kept her hand in his, lightly guiding her along to the dressing room.

A chest that had not been there the week before stood against the wall, and Lothiriel looked at it a moment before staring up at Eomer.

He moved his hand to her shoulder and gently nudged her forward.

She moved slowly over to the chest, looking back at him for some hint as to what she would find in the cedar chest. Her fingers worked over the intricate carvings, thinking that if the chest itself was the only gift that she would accept it gladly. How long had it taken to craft it? It was new, she could tell that at a glance, the smell of the wood filled her senses with it’s almost spicy aroma. She opened the lid and stared in some confusion at the contents.

The fur-lined cloak was beautiful, a dark red velvet. The weight of it felt significant as Lothiriel pulled it from the chest and held it against herself.

“There are two more, but they are still being made,” Eomer said, leaning in the doorway, and smiling as she rubbed the fur against her cheek. “You need warmer things than you brought with you for the winters here.”

She looked into the chest and saw a few woolen dresses with delicate embroidery and fought back a squeal of excitement. She wondered if there was anything more exciting than new frocks. She folded the cloak over her arm and hurried back to him, grinning, “Thank you, my lord.”

He smiled at her, taking the cloak from her arm and wrapped it around her shoulders to ensure that the size was right. “I will admit that I was nervous that they would not be after a fashion that you would like.”

Lothiriel moved her head so that her cheek brushed against the warm, soft fur, her eyes closing at the sensation.

“But I thought that practicality should be more important,” Eomer went on, running the back of his fingers over the curve of her cheek.

She looked up at him, not able to find the words to express her gratitude for his kindness. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him.

For a moment, he stared at the top of her head, but after the initial amused shock wore off, he wrapped his arm around her, nuzzling against her cheek. He was more than a little ashamed of the thoughts that flooded his mind, wanting to strip her of her clothing and leave her only in the cloak. He suddenly wanted her naked and lain out by the hearth, but he struggled to push the thought from his mind, or to at least control the expression on his face.

Lothiriel looked up at him, “You are so kind to me.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “I know that we have not known each other for very long, but I am rather fond of you, and I want to take care of you.”

She smiled, “well, you seem to be doing so.” She ran a hand over the velvet, “I love it.”

Eomer beamed, “That is good, for if you were displeased, I would have had the furriers thrown from the city walls.”

She laughed, pushing his chest lightly, “We cannot have that.” She looked back at the chest, picking one of the dresses out and holding it up. It seemed simpler in its design than the majority of her dresses, but cut similarly, with the high waist, but in general, the fit seemed more natural. She unpinned the veil from her hair, and folded it carefully, “I want to try them on.”

“I will call for Heohild,” Eomer smiled, starting away.

“I have been running her rather ragged,” Lothiriel said, “If you are not needed elsewhere, you might help me.”

“I am your servant, my lady,” he smiled shyly as he approached her. The ties at the back of her dress came easily undone, and he smiled that the feeling of the silk cord under his fingers. Even her more casual dresses seemed ornate.

He had never undressed her himself, he realized, and his hand shook a little at the thought. He ran a finger over the exposed skin, tracing the shape of her shoulder blade.

She slid the dress from her shoulders, and picked it up carefully, looking for which case it belonged in.

“Is that uncomfortable?” Eomer asked, eying her stays.

She looked back at him, confused for a moment until she understood where he was looking, and running a hand over the undergarment, “No. It is simply supportive.”

“I do not think that I have ever seen such a thing,” Eomer admitted, a little awkwardly.

She smiled, teasingly, “Should I not wear it?”

“I would not think to tell you want to wear,” Eomer said, realizing a moment too late that she might interpret his buying her clothing as doing just that, or that she might have been flirting with him, “If you prefer them, I mean.”

She chuckled, crouching by the chest, picking up a yellow dress, and looking back at him. “How did you know?” She slid the dress over her head.

“Know what?”

“That I like yellow,” she said, turning her back to him so that she could tighten the laces at the back of the dress.

“Oh,” Eomer blushed, and was grateful that she was not looking at him. “I, er, I asked Heohild.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I would have asked you, but you were…” biting the inside of his cheek. “I have not asked as many questions of you as I likely ought.”

“It seems a strange thing to be so concerned of,” she looked over her shoulder at him.

He tucked the ties of her dress in and looked her over. He thought that the color looked well on her, not certain if she would agree, but for the gleeful look on her face.

She hurried past him to look in the mirror, spinning a little before bouncing excitedly.

Eomer chuckled, and sat on one of the chests, watching her preen. She almost seemed to glow, and she turned back to him, grinning.

“Thank you,” she said again, hurrying over to him, and throwing her arms around his neck.

He liked her like this, gleeful and grinning and he felt warmed through.

Lothiriel kissed his cheek before she bounced away and looking at her reflection again.

He followed after her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “I should buy you new clothes more often, I think.”

She bit her lip, looking back at him over her shoulder, “You have found my weakness.”

He kissed her cheek, “There are worse weaknesses to have.”

Lothiriel turned to him, and slid her arms around his neck, pulling herself up against him, kissing him. It struck her that she was behaving childishly. She was not certain why she was so enthusiastic about his gifts, but she was. She felt his arm wrapping around her waist and it was like she could float off of the floor. It was strange, but wonderful.

“It suits you,” Eomer said, brushing her hair back from her face.

“In truth I have always worried that the color would-”

“I meant happiness,” he interrupted.

She blushed, chewing her lip against the smile that spread across her face, “I am happy, Eomer.”

He turned her face up to make her look at him, taking in her face, and her silver eyes.

She pulled away, “Let us sit by the fire.” She twirled a little, her skirts billowing as she moved, “I should get some work done.”

“I should think you would have been wearied of your sewing,” Eomer said, settling into his chair, adjusting the cushion for his back. He was too young to have as many aches and discomforts as he did. “I do not mean to offend you, but I had thought that is all you have been able to do this week.”

She smiled, “That and reading. Heohild would not bring me my ledgers. I do not mind it though. It seems more practical than embroidery, though I like that as well.”

He watched her with a small smile which only widened when she looked back at him.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head, “as I said, I have missed you is all.”

Lothiriel shook her head a little, trying to fight off the color that creeped across her freckled cheeks. She had not done much with him that he might miss, she thought, but perhaps it was more that he simply liked having someone to sit with, “You are… I beg your pardon, but you are not what I had expected.”

“What did you expect me to be?” he asked standing to pour them both some wine.

She hesitated, “I am not sure.”

Eomer passed her a chalice and sat back down, stretching his legs out to warm his feet by the fire. “You must have thought something.”

“I suppose I expected you to be…” she was not certain that she should actually voice her assumption.

“Go on,” Eomer raised a brow at her, taking a sip of the wine. It wasn’t terrible stuff, something her father had brought when they had married.

“Well, I knew little about you beyond that you were a warrior,” she set her work aside, not wanting to risk staining it with the wine.

He chuckled, “And you thought that you should fear me as some brute?”

“I did not say that,” she said hastily, her fingers clutching at the chalice.

“I am not upset,” Eomer reassured her, “but I should hope by now that you would know that you have nothing to fear in me.” He hoped it but was not entirely certain it was true. He still remembered her flinching back from him.

“I suppose I more thought that you would be as grim as you seemed.”

He drank again, thinking over what she had said, “In truth, I do not have an ease with strangers, and my sister has always said that I would prefer to be feared than risk embarrassment.”

For a moment it occurred to Lothiriel that she had never really considered Eomer a person. It was not that she had cast him as some monster in her mind, but she had considered him a man in the archetypal sense only. She knew he had urges and appetites but had not considered him actually having any fears.

“Do you think that is a fair assessment?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” Eomer admitted, “What do you fear?”

The question gave her pause, and she couldn’t quite think of anything to say for a moment. She could admit to him that she lived in a constant terror at the idea of disappointing people. It had been beaten into her mind that if she was not a success, if she was not useful, then she would have no purpose. But he would simply tell her that she was not a disappointment, and it would do little to allay the fear. People rarely admitted what they thought, and though she was under the impression that Eomer would tell her the truth, she also thought it likely that he would try to wipe away her concerns, “Well, I fear small spaces.”

“Really?”

“Small rooms, caves, cabinets,” she nodded, twisting her cup between her hands. “I just freeze, or panic.”

“Then I shall never take you to Helm’ Deep.”

“I heard that the caves are lovely,” Lothiriel said, remembering Lord Gimli going to great lengths to describe them, “But I have no desire to see them.” She pulled her feet up under herself, her toes feeling chilled. She thought for a moment before speaking, “My governess put me in a cabinet once, and I have always been afraid of confinement since.”

“The more you tell me of this woman, the less I dislike my tutors,” Eomer said, looking at her, “Do you want our children to have a governess?”

“Perhaps,” she said, “I had not given it much thought. Were you a good pupil?”

“Bema, no,” Eomer laughed, “They could hardly ever get me to sit still long enough to do much good, and they were constantly telling my mother that I was an unruly wretch.”

She chuckled, trying to imagine Eomer as a child. “What did your mother say?”

“That if I did not shape up, she was going to send me to live with my grandmother. That usually did the trick for a few days.”

“I have never met Morwen, I do not think,” Lothiriel tried to remember if she ever had met the dowager queen. It might do her some good to know what she might be up against in her new people.

“Count yourself lucky,” Eomer said, leaning forward, “She is a mean old thing. She never liked me much.”

They fell into a casual conversation in this manner for a few hours, and Lothiriel felt as if he was actually listening to her as she spoke. At times, she would say something, and he would fall silent for a moment before responding, as if he was taking her words and running them through his mind, actually considering them. It was so unlike the quick conversations that she was used to.

In the citadel it had always been imperative to have a quick response to anything said, the wittier, the better. She had not been expected to have anything earnest to say. If she had opinions on matters of politics it was better that she offered them in the form of a joke, rather than an outright proclamation of ideals. She wondered if Eomer would actually hear her opinions and take them into account.

It was not until that point that she realized that even as he had been open and kind to her, he had seemed to go out of his way not to share his own thoughts with her. He was sharing now, perhaps in a smaller way than she was, but still. He was letting her in, and it struck her that he was giving her some measure of power over him. Had he thought of it in that way?

He shifted, looking through the window behind her, “We should go to supper,” he said, “if you wish.”

“I could eat,” she smiled before draining her cup and setting on a side table, “Do I look acceptable?”

“Most,” Eomer thought to let her go with her hair uncovered, having decided that he did not care if she did or not. It was the custom for married women to wear veils, but most of the young women of the court did not observe the custom. “Oh, your veil.”

She blushed, “I will fetch it.”

“If you wish,” Eomer watched her.

“Should I not?” she turned looking at him.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he said, shyly, “It seems a shame to hide it.”

Lothiriel ran her hand over the back of her head, checking that it was pinned securely. “Well, if you are certain it is not improper.”

“My darling wife, you are a queen,” Eomer said, stooping a little, “You have a right to do whatever you like.”

“You may regret giving me that power,” she teased, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, “I might decide to be quite demanding.”

Eomer folded his hand over hers, “Be as you wish. I have no complaints.”

She pressed closer to him as they entered the hall, smiling a little to herself, feeling closer to him, and feeling warm and safe.

As she ate, she could feel him looking at her from time to time, and blushed harder.

She had read once that the reflection one saw in a mirror was not quite what others saw. She wondered if he saw her differently, and if he did in fact think that she was as lovely as he said, or if he said such things only because it was the sort of things that a man said to a woman. She still was not entirely certain that he was not simply taking care of her because it was his duty, and that he was expected to do. Though there was something in the way he spoke to her that made her feel as if he might in truth have the fondness for her that he claimed.

He spoke to her, asking her questions about her life, and she did the same in response, trying to know him beyond the small parts she did, and found that he had an earnestness to him, and that was enough for her to trust him all the more. He did not seem to be one for lying, or for ennobling himself to seem more important. He seemed to her to be simply a good man.

For a moment, she watched the dancing and smiled a little wistfully. She had not danced since her wedding, besides a few steps here and there, and had not asked Eomer again, taking his words that he did not dance at their face value.

“If you wish to join,” Eomer said after a moment of watching her, “you know that you may.”

“Should I not rather stay by your side?”

“You should do as you want. Be as demanding as you wish, dear.”

She smiled, self-conscious, but she stood and went to mingle with the court, still feeling his eyes on her as he went to speak with some of his lords and Ealdormen.

She fell in with Lady Baldgwyn and her nieces. The younger ladies of Lady Baldgwyn’s family had not been invited to make the acquaintance of the Queen, and Lothiriel understood it rather quickly, finding that both girls had little to offer but cattiness, and not even creativity in their disdain for others.

Lothiriel had been like them once, and there was a part of her that still was, but she liked to credit herself that she had at least been witty. Having listened to the pair of them for a few moments, Lothiriel excused herself, not having the energy to smile through their remarks.

“Does Your Grace not care for the Snake Sisters?” a pretty blond woman, a few years older than Lothiriel asked, stepping into the open space beside her and curtsying.

“Who?” Lothiriel asked, trying to remember if she had met this lady yet, or not.

“Lady Baldgwyn is a saintly woman, but her nieces could have my boot for all I care,” the lady went on.

“Oh, I do not know them well,” Lothiriel said, diplomatically, “I have been making so many introductions of late, that I fear I am still trying to remember who I have and have not met.”

“Of course. My apologies,” the lady smiled, “I am Lady Leowella. We have not met yet, but I am entirely at your service, You Grace.”

Lothiriel smiled politely, “It is always good to make new friends.”

“Even if it is tiring.”

“That is putting it lightly.”

Lady Leowella smiled, “You are doing well. Eomer King will not stop singing your praises.”

“He is terribly kind.”

“He has always been so.”

“Do you know the King well?” Lothiriel’s smile hid the quick tangle of anxiety that twisted up her spine.

“We were children together,” Lady Leowella smiled, “My mother and his mother were friends, so we played together.”

“The King is lucky to have so many friends.”

“I promise we are not so fearsome as your people think,” Lady Leowella laughed, “and I promise you will make friends. You seem like a very nice person.”

The lady was rather familiar, but there was something nonthreatening about her. It seemed that this form of assuming familiarity was just the way of the Eorlingas, and Lothiriel did her best not to feel uncomfortable about it. “Perhaps you will come sit with my tomorrow, if your schedule would allow it.”

“I would be honored, Your Grace.”

From the other side of the hall, Waerhild watched the Queen and walked slowly over to Eothain’s side, “Did you see who Lothiriel Queen was speaking to.”

“No,” Eothain craned his neck, not having the gift for subtly, nor really caring to put in the practice to gain it. He finally found Lothiriel and his eyes widened, “Oh…”

“Should I warn her, do you think?”

“No. I shouldn’t think it will be as much of a problem as you imagine.”

Waerhild stared at her husband for a moment, trying to decide if his optimism was genuinely based in a belief in the goodness of people, or if he was simply a fool.

“Dear heart,” Eothain said, a care in his tone, “If there is no cause for concern, you might simply give her alarm. Let Eomer speak to her.”

“Do you imagine that he will think to?”

“I doubt it, if I am honest, but you know that it is in the past, and so there is little enough cause for alarm.”

She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, “I know she has only just returned, but whatever Eomer King has done so far seems to be doing the trick.”

“How do you mean?”

“Only that she seems…” Waerhild could not think of the words for it, “She seems more comfortable.”

Eothain smiled at her, “Perhaps being removed from it all for a time returned to her some sense of self.”

“I did not want to say in front of Eomer, but in truth I envy her the ability to rest through her monthlies,” Waerhild whispered.

“Do not think to take it up,” Eothain teasingly warned her, “I cannot run our house myself, and would surely burn it down by mistake.”

0x0x0

He had meant to let Lothiriel sleep, and to give her time before he made love to her again. The problem was that they shared a bed, and she had become accustomed to curling up against him each night. For a moment, he wondered if he was an absolute monster, as it should not have been so difficult to simply hold his wife, and sleep.

It was not to say that he had become accustomed to sleeping without her, because he had not, but to have her back presented the problem that he had not counted on. It was easy to tell himself that he could sleep by her side and do nothing else, but he felt her body pressing against him, and his mind turned beyond his honorable intentions.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to convince himself that she would fall asleep soon, and that the matter would be out of his hands.

Lothiriel turned her face up to him, studying him with a small smile.

Eomer leaned down a little, thinking that a kiss did not violate his decision. He felt her smile against his lips, and he shifted a little to kiss her again, letting his lips linger a moment longer against hers.

Lothiriel shifted onto her back, looking back at Eomer. It was her duty to be a good wife, and she reminded herself that the charge put to her was to produce an heir for her new country. It was not her place to refuse him, or to beg him to touch her, no matter how badly she wanted him to.

She had hoped that her seclusion would give her the time to better organize her thoughts and remind herself of her station and her responsibilities, but she had not seemed to have managed it.

Could he see her wanton desire painted over her face? Would he see that, and know how disgraceful her thoughts were?

He kissed her again, and it was one of those deep kisses that made her weak, and made her arms slid around his neck. She pulled him close to her, pushing up against him. She wanted him, and she could not quite work out how to make herself stop wanting him.

Eomer pulled back from her, looking at her for a moment as if he was going to say something. He should tell her that he meant to wait, and that he wanted her heart, but it was harder to stay to his plan when he felt her pressing up to meet his embrace. Her arms wrapped around him, and pulled him close, and his mind when blank of anything beyond the feeling of her body against his. Squirming and cursing himself for not sleeping nude, he fumbled at the ties of his breeches to free himself.

His hand cupped one of her knees, pulling her hips up against his as he pushed into her. She wrapped her free leg over his hip, pulling herself tighter against him.

Eomer slid his hand between their bodies as an after-thought as she murmured against his shoulder, her hips bucking against him. He thumbed at the pearl of her sex and was rewarded by the small bite she gave his shoulder. He grasped a handful of her hair, pulling her head back with a tug, exposing her neck to him.

He smiled against his throat, and he let out a small chuckle, “Does that please you?”

The answer came out of her in a breathy murmur.

He tugged on her hair again, forgetting that he had meant to be gentle with her, “Does it?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

If he had wanted to have a portrait of her commissioned, it would be a fine and Queenly image. This greedy, wanting thing was only for him. He bit at her earlobe, thrusting into her a little more forcefully. Her thighs gripped at him, and he lost himself in the wash of sensation, and the sound of her crying out.

She was vaguely aware of the sounds leaving her, but she could not quite make herself focus on anything beside the intense pleasure burning through her. There was some pain, but that pleasure overwhelmed it. She was clawing at his back, and she felt him shuddering and stalling over her.

After a moment, he looked at her, his chin resting against her chest, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said, because it was easier than telling him that he had in some small way, but that she had liked it. There had to be something wrong with that.

He sat up, moving to his side of the bed, “If I do, you must tell me.”

Lothiriel leaned on her elbow, watching him remake his part of the bed, fluffing his pillow and adjusting it. She waited for him to make himself comfortable debating whether or not to risk the chilly air to fetch her nightgown from ground, but decided against moving from under the covers.

In the warm glow of afterward, Lothiriel rested her head against his shoulder, smiling a little as he traced the tips of his fingers over the small of her back. It felt nice, and she liked him. She should tell him, she knew, but she was hesitant to really tell him what she felt.

Lothiriel was pulled out of her thoughts as Eomer turned her face up to him. There was something sweet in his gaze, as he smiled gently at her. He pulled her face up to him and kissed her again.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly as she settled back against his shoulder.

She stared into the shadows at the far side of the room, trying to quantify her thoughts into something that might not offend, or sound as if she was whining. “I was wondering if we might have conceived,” she said.

Eomer nodded, thoughtfully, his fingertips swirling again, tracing up her back, “It will happen. You needn’t worry.”

She shifted, hugging him gently.

“I know you do not like being awoken without reason,” Eomer said, “but would you like to ride with me tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Lothiriel smiled, tucking her head to hide her smile from him. It felt like a girlish infatuation, she realized. She had liked men before, schoolgirl crushes and giggling with the other girls about lords and knights in her father or uncle’s service. Nothing had ever come of these feelings, and she was not certain what she was meant to do with her feelings.

She had shared a few kisses, and flirtations in her life, but she had never been able to explore her own feelings beyond daydreaming. If Eomer was fond of her, would he feel the same way as she did? Was it possible that he might come to love her?

Before she had come to the Mark it had not occurred to her that she could be friends with her husband, or that he would take any interest in her beyond his marital rights. Even though she had told him, she was still struck by how different he was from her expectations, and from what people had told her of him. He clearly had an intention of assuming those rights but seemed to also have an intention to have her as a friend, and companion.

She might turn that to her advantage in some way. She should have considered that sooner and felt a little foolish for not realizing that she had other ways to gain influence than by her duty or by being the very image of a queen. Though she was not certain how to keep his interest from wandering, besides being kindly an attentive.

There was the matter of her lust, and she would find a way to control that, and do her duties with dedication rather than her own desire.


	8. Chapter 8

She had not made any friends on her own, Lothiriel realized as she sat with Lady Leowella, and her nerves over being friends with yet another person that knew Eomer faded as they spoke. Eomer had lived in Edoras for a good portion of his adolescence so it would be rather difficult to find members of the court that did not know him. She wondered if every other woman had only extended the offer of friendship at Eomer’s urging.

Lothiriel and Lady Leowella fell into gossiping, and Lothiriel saw a value in having someone that spoke as freely as Lady Leowella did. She made Lothiriel laugh, even if she knew she should not.

“Oh, you know that Lady Baldgwyn carries a torch for the door warden Deor?” Lady Leowella asked, looking up from her embroidery.

“She does not,” Lothiriel clicked her tongue, “She is such a lady, I do not imagine she would give her affections to one below her rank.”

Lady Leowella laughed, “Do you think such things can be controlled? I think they were sweethearts when they were younger, but her family arranged a match for her.”

“I thought the Eorlinga did not hold with such things,” Lothiriel all but gasped, trying to imagine the stately matron as a young woman.

“It was rather old fashioned,” Lady Leowella said, “but in their generation it was still done sometimes.”

“In our generation it is still done,” Lothiriel pointed out.

“That is different,” Lady Leowella protested, “Our King needed a wife, and you coming here has been rather beneficial to the country. Your dowry has saved us.”

Lothiriel preened a little at the praise, “I do like to be helpful.”

“And you have improved the mood of the King,” Lady Leowella added, chuckling, “and Bema knows that we have needed that.”

“Oh, hush,” Lothiriel said, swatting at Lady Leowella’s knee.

“You have!”

“I have done my best to please my husband, but I would not think to take credit for his moods.”

“Eomer has had a rather difficult life, and as someone that cares about him,” Lady Leowella said, smiling through her honesty, “I am, simply put, happy to see him in such a lighter mood.”

“I thought he was rather grim before we wed.”

“He has acted this way since he was about…” Lady Leowella tried to think, “thirteen or so. I think he felt the need to pretend to be a grown man after his parents… He wanted to be strong for Eowyn, and it is my opinion that he has always been concerned with how people think of him, and also that it is important that he appears not to care about it at all.”

“Eowyn told me that he was shy?”

Lady Leowella grinned suddenly, “Oh, he can be. Once when he was perhaps fifteen years of age, he attempted to speak to a lady that he fancied, and rather bungled it. He was so embarrassed that he packed a rucksack and went into the plains for a few days, only returning when he was certain that no one would remember.”

“Did no one go after him?” Lothiriel asked, aghast at the idea of her husband running away.

“No, sometimes he needs to take some time for himself.”

“I understand that,” she said, trying to find a way to say what she thought without sounded like a beast, “I do not know if anyone knows, but I took a week during my… woman’s times… and I think that Eomer does not want me to do so again.”

“Why did you?” Lady Leowella asked, “It is none of my business, I know, but that seems…”

“Like some strange foreign custom?”

Lady Leowella winced a little but nodded.

“It is how I have always done things, and how things are done in Gondor.”

“Do you want to put that custom aside, or would you do it only to please the King?”

“I cannot say, if I mean to be honest. I like having that time to myself, and I do have some of the worst of that condition. In my experience men do not want to see their women in such discomfort.”

“Is that why you should think to do it?” Lady Leowella asked, raising a brow.

“I had some other thoughts, but they seem to have been unfounded.”

“Such being?”

Lothiriel opened her mouth and closed it, blushing.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry. I am forever speaking too much. Simply tell me to hold my tongue,” Lady Leowella blushed, waving her hands anxiously.

“It is alright,” Lothiriel smiled, “I have the same trouble. I either say too much or too little. Since I came here, I have been rather quiet, but that is more because I do not want to offend anyone.”

“If anyone is offended, they might as well take it and be silent. You are a Queen now.”

“That is what Eomer King says, and I see the truth of it, but still, I had not been Queen so long that I would presume that I am able to express myself beyond what might be appropriate.”

“There is nothing that you could say that would be so terrible as that. You seem to be a sweet woman.”

“You might be surprised,” Lothiriel settled back in her chair.

“Do you absolutely despise us all?” Lady Leowella asked, giggling, “Have you secretly plotted a coup?”

“I have not!” Lothiriel laughed.

“Then do not worry so,” Lady Leowella smiled sweetly, “I can assure you that the people of this court will gossip about you. That is a truth that transcends all culture, but I can also assure you that we are all pleased that you are here. As I have said, you make Eomer King happy, and that is worth so much.”

0x0x0

Eomer had taken a greater interest in her, and had begun to spend more time with her, when his schedule allowed. The easiest way for them to spend time together was for Lothiriel to fit herself into his schedule, and that had led to the habit of riding with him in the mornings that he did so.

There was freedom in doing something with no real direction or intention, and that freedom and exhilaration was worth waking earlier than she wanted. They were meant to bring a guard with them, but Eomer had snuck them away. It felt as if they were naughty children doing some mischief. It did not occur to her until later that they might be in trouble.

She had begun to take risks, and do things that might be, not outright indecent, but which might go against her social training. But Eomer seemed to bring something out in her. There had been moments in her life when she had been convinced to do things that she might not have normally done.

Lothiriel raced ahead of Eomer and Firefoot, urging her mare, Sylmere, ahead of them, a few locks of her hair coming free and streaming behind her. It was a breach of social rules to ride ahead of a king, but she hadn’t thought of that at the time. These lapses had become more common, and Eomer never seemed to mind them in the least.

His voice called out behind her, urging Firefoot not to accept the insult of be overtaken by a Gondorian mare, but she could hear the laughter in his voice.

It was a split moment decision, but she grinned as they closed in on her, and she tugged the reins, rounding Sylmere and charging back away from Eomer. She hadn’t raced in years, and she had not realized how much she had missed it.

“Do you yield, my lady?” Eomer called when he finally caught up to her, watching her slow her horse, and look at him.

“I think I had better,” she smiled, “It would be an insult to the King of the Rohirrim if a Gondorian Princess were to best him.”

“Oh, is that so?” he grinned at her.

“Indeed.”

“Then I suppose it is for the best that you are Queen of the Riddermark now,” he replied with the casual assurance of a man content with his life.

“Then you would say I am the better rider?” she asked, smirking.

“Clearly the best,” Eomer said with a deadpan manner, before smiling, “I did not know that you enjoyed riding. I would have thought that someone from your family would have mentioned it.”

She stared out over the grass, wondering what it would look like once the frost fully set in, and once the snows came. She looked back at Eomer and found his gaze fixed on her, “I have not lived with my family for quite a while. In truth, they might not know me as well as you would think.”

“I had forgotten,” Eomer admitted, feeling a little like a cad, “Did you enjoy living with your uncle?”

“I did rather,” she replied, watching his face change, “You seem surprised by that.”

“It is only that I have heard that your uncle was… a difficult man.”

“He was not so terrible as some opportunists would say,” Lothiriel muttered, “The stress of the last few years wore on his psyche. He felt as if he was holding the line against Mordor on his own. But my uncle was always kind to me.”

“How is it you came to live with him?” Eomer asked, and then noted the look on her face, the way that her brow shifted at the question, “If I may ask?”

She hesitated, trying to find the best way to express her opinions and what had happened as far as she understood, “My lord father might have considered Minas Tirith a better place for me, and that I would have a better chance of making a match.”

“I am pleased that your father was wrong in his assertion,” Eomer smiled at his wife.

She clucked at him, “Hush, you.”

“I will not,” he laughed.

“Did you always live in Meduseld?” Lothiriel asked, wanting to get away from the topic of her own past. Perhaps it would serve as a lesson to him, if her question made him uncomfortable.

If it had, Eomer did not show it, “No, I lived here from the time I was twelve until I came to my majority. I was lord of Aldburg after the death of my father, but my uncle adopted Eowyn and myself and raised us as his own. He helped me learn to manage my estate and holdings.”

“Did he consult you on those matters?” she asked.

“After a time. Before that, my uncle would make the decisions that were appropriate, but would explain to me what those decisions were, and why they were being made.”

“Did you ever disagree with him?”

“Only when I began to understand things,” Eomer said, looking back to the city, “Though, I think that by that point he had begun to say one thing to test me, and to do another.”

“That hardly seems a way to ensure trust between kin.”

“it was done to ensure that I was learning and paying attention.”

“Were you not given to pay such attentions to your land?”

“When I was young, I did not. I had more interest in my sword and my armor than my house.”

Lothiriel smirked, “Is the true reason that you gave me the house at Aldburg, and the surrounding lands that you wished to be free of the burden of their management?”

“You would make me sound a rather undutiful sort, rather that recognizing that you were better suited to the charge than I.”

“I would never make such an assumptive statement as that.”

“Even if it were in some way true?” Eomer smiled, “You have extended the spending on seeds, have you not?”

“As you are master of Aldburg, as well as King, any yields and surpluses would pass to you, and I thought that it would be a boon to the surplus.”

“You needn’t explain your actions as if you think that I would scold you,” Eomer wondered if that was what she thought he would do in truth rather than simply boasting in the only way that her former society would find appropriate, “I have not minded the estate as well as I should have these last few years, having been otherwise occupied, and I am pleased at your interest in improvement.”

“What manner of person would not try to improve the things that are given them, if they have a means to do so?”

“I do not know that all people have your way of thinking about such things,” Eomer said, carefully, “my stewards write that your plans and devices are likely to be a success, and I have taken your suggestions over the Westfold farms to the council and they seem to find merit in them.” He hesitated a moment, trying to think out how to phrase his next thought, “My sister had warned me that I would be giving you too many duties and responsibilities, and that doing so would likely not be good for your health.”

Lothiriel let out a quick laugh, “I think that there is an assumption that ladies are dainty things, and that we cannot possibly manage anything but social calls. Though I have no idea where that would even have come from, as the ladies run all of the households.”

“I think perhaps it is more in keeping with the fantasy of what a woman is,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“I have always preferred to be useful. If I do not have some task or project, my mind sort of tears itself apart,” she said, pushing on before he could ask what she meant. “I managed my uncle’s household for years and did it well as far as anyone would say.”

Eomer was looking at her in that strange way again, and she never knew how she was meant to interpret that look. It was as if he had found something pleasant that he had not expected, or as if he was considering how he should spend his free time. It was a strange amalgamation of an expression, but she knew that it made her blush.

He did not seem aware of how inappropriate it was to stare at a person for so long a time, and neither did he seem willing to acknowledge that he had taken to standing too close to her in public.

“Have you found that experience to have trained you well enough?” Eomer asked, a question he already knew the answer to, but he wanted to give her the opportunity to brag about her accomplishments.

“Do you find it has?” she asked in return. In truth his opinion of her charge and how she had managed it was more important than how she felt about it.

He deflated a little, “You have done well, and you know you have, so you should have no trouble in saying so. Do you think that you value only comes from the praise of others?” The question had been given in the form of a tease, but as soon as he had said it, he realized that it was a question that needed an answer.

“I am a lady,” she smirked, “My duty is first and foremost to be a good reflection on my family, whether that is the family I have by blood, or the one I am given by marriage.”

“I thought your chief duty was to please your husband,” he said, smiling a little as he faltered, “You have achieved that, I assure you.”

She was pretty when she colored so fiercely, and when she did not hide behind the mask that she put on in company. With a clearing of her throat, she turned her gaze back to him, “We should return to Edoras. I have a few engagements, and I should not wish to be tardy.”

“You would have the excuse that your husband absconded with you,” Eomer called teasingly, following after her.

“No one would believe it.”

“Are you certain of that?”

She sucked her teeth, trying her best not to smile at him. He was prone to vexing her, and she was often not certain what he had said that was sincere and what was said to get a reaction.

They were friendly, and that was enough, she assured herself. It made her life easier than it would have been if they hadn’t gotten along at all. Though she had been told that a callous husband was more the fault of his wife than anything. She had been assured by her aunt, a spinster who seemed to know more about marriage than she ought to, that if she made herself agreeable and sweet that she would have not troubles in her marriage. It was a lesson that she had taken to heart, even before she had truly met Eomer, and had done her best to be agreeable. There had been little struggle in that matter, by grace, as Eomer had been sweet enough to her that she found reciprocating his kindly nature a simple task.

The rode through the city up to the King’s Stables, and groomed their horses, as was the way here. It had taken Lothiriel a week or so to adapt herself to this, rather than handing her reins off to a stable hand. It was calming in a way that she had not expected it to be, now that she had become used to it.

Lothiriel finished grooming her horse, humming to herself. Sylmere’s coat gleamed like polished copper. She felt a bond with Sylmere now and was glad of the enthusiasm that her horse took the apple from her hand.

“We may make an Eorlinga of you yet,” Eomer teased behind her as Lothiriel kissed Sylmere’s cheek.

“I take that as a compliment,” she threw the words over her shoulder, carelessly.

“You should, for that is how I meant it,” Eomer wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

She could feel every inch of him pressing behind her, and for a moment she wondered if he would detain her and ask her to come back to their rooms for a moment, she would need to wash the sweat from under her arms, anyway.

It was a thought that before the marriage she would have found scandalous, but she wanted Eomer to toss her over his shoulder and take her to their bed.

Eomer kissed the top of her head before releasing her, “I must get to my lords before they decide that I have been abducted,” he teased, taking her gloved hand in his.

“Will you not eat with me?”

“Would that I could,” he lamented, squeezing her hand, “but the time has gotten away from the both of us.” He cradled her hand a moment before leading her back up to the hall, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

“You still must eat something,” she said after a moment, “I will send something for you, and you might at least use it as an excuse to give your Ealdormen to leave you in peace, should you need it.”

“What a wicked plan,” Eomer beamed at her.

“It is hardly wicked, my lord. A man must eat,” she cast her eyes down, smiling, “and if your wife is simply concerned with your health, and so if anyone is cross at it, they will at least not be able to say that I am up to any mischief.” She took removed her gloves as they walked through the hall, her movements a little awkward as she did not want to move her hand from his arm. Her hands tingled a little as the warm air in the hall made contact with her skin.

Watched her bending over backwards to find a way out of being considered a troublemaker, and he would have believed that it was difficult for her, but for the glint in her eyes.

“As long as no one suspects you of mischief,” Eomer teased her, “as you are clearly the most proper lady there has ever been.”

She pinched his arm playfully, “And I will not have you forget it.”

The hall made her realize that she had been rather close to cold, though she was not certain how it could have slipped her notice. He walked her to their rooms and kissed her chilled hand, “I should have some gloves made for you, as it seems the ones you use for riding serve little purpose beyond keeping your skin as soft as this.”

“You ought to be careful, or you will spoil me,” she said quickly.

“I mean to do so. But now, I must go,” he sounded as if he regretted it, and she was not certain why he should, as he was king and could simply tell every single one of his lords to go occupy themselves at counting beans, and they would not be able to say a word against it. She felt a sudden desire to snatch him into her arms and drag him to bed, but there was no appropriate way to do such a thing, and if there was, she did not know what it was.

He released her hand after bowing and went along to his duties, and Lothiriel felt a small pang at his departure. It was such a small matter, but she found that she wanted him back beside her, in their rooms. He had his duties, and she could not make herself a nuisance, especially over such an inappropriate desire.

She called for Heohild to bring some warm water for her to wash the sweat away from her skin and freshen her appearance before she accepted the women that wanted to sit with her. She had not so given up her ideas of formality that she could walk into a room of her supposed intimates, such as they were, without having better appointed herself.

Heohild helped her into one of the warm dresses that Eomer had had made for her, and she sat to let Heohild try to fix her hair.

There was little enought to be done for the wild state of her hair, which did not do her bidding at the best of times. Having her hair combed and styled was a pleasure that Lothiriel should have by rank become rather used to without thought.

Her eyes slid shut at the feeling of her hair being combed and formed, smiling a little.

In the dark behind her eyes, she thought over her dilemma, trying to work out the solution of it.

Was it possible that a man would be so taken with his own passions that he would not notice the behavior of this wife? Eomer had said nothing of her abandonment of sense, though it was possible that he simply said nothing out of respect for her as his wife, and queen. It would be a rather awkward conversation when she considered it.

If he was in fact shy, then that would explain it. He had been coming out of his shell lately and been more open in speaking with her, but that matter was not one to be discussed in civilized conversation.

He had spoken to her the last time that they had been intimate, but she had been in the throes of that wild passion, and she had little remembrance now of what it was he had said to her, but it was likely an inquiry of her comfort, as he seemed deathly afraid of causing her some harm. It was a fear that she had shared, but he had not really hurt her in any way. The small actions of rough attention had thrilled her more than was likely decent.

She had caught herself thinking about what they did together and was far too aware that some of those fancies that her mind created were entirely improper. When she thought of those things, she did her best to stop herself and remember that a queen was not to be handled in such ways as that. The most recent of those daydreams that haunted her to madness was what might happen if her husband was overcome by his urges and pinned her against a wall and take what he wanted from her. The very thought of it made her face feel as if it was going to burn itself off with shame. He was a kind and gentle man and would not do such a thing.

She was a wife of a king, not a harlot, and whatever madness this was must be temporary, and brought on by the changes in her life. She would produce an heir and she would keep herself in her place.

Heohild did her best to make it into a proper style again, and smiled a little knowingly at the Queen’s reflection, seeing the color creeping up Lothiriel’s neck, “Did you enjoy your ride, my lady?”

“I did,” Lothiriel replied, brought out of her thoughts by the question.

“Should I take your riding clothes to the laundry?”

“No, I did not build up as much a sweat as that,” Lothiriel smiled as her veil was pinned in place, “They should be alright until tomorrow.”

“Will you be riding again, my lady?” There was some inference in the question that Lothiriel could not quite sort out.

“If His Majesty bids,” she said with a polite smile. She slid a few fingers against her hair, testing its security a moment, “Thank you, Heohild, that will be all.”

The maid curtsied and left, watching from the corner of her eye as Lothiriel picked up a shawl and threw it over her shoulders.

It was needlework with the ladies today, as it was most of the time that she socialized with the other women. She did not have the energy, or will to learn the skill of weaving, though Lady Baldgwyn had brought a loom into the solar and set it up.

Lothiriel had watched with some interest but had not been able to work out how the images were created in the fabric. There was something about it that seemed like magic, and she was more comfortable with her embroidery and the strange thing called knitting that Waerhild had shown her, though her attempts thus far had been rather a tangled mess.

She dabbed some of the scent the Eomer had bought oil to her pulse points before collecting her little basket and going to meet with the women. She collected Caelon from his room and patted her hip and likely mangled the Rohirric command for him to walk by her side, but he obeyed her in spite of her linguistic inabilities with his usual cheerful nature.

As she walked through the hall, she remembered her conversation with Eomer and stopped a servant to ask if they could ensure that the king ate something in the next hour or so if he did not leave his council. “Bring him a tray, if you would be so kind.”

It occurred to her as she left the hall that she should learn her servants’ names, rather than considering them nameless vessels for her will. It was a thought that had come to her before, but she had never done much to rectify her way of thinking or acting.

“Hello, ladies,” she smiled as she came into the solar, “I apologize for my tardiness. I was riding and wished to come to you in a better condition than the poor windblown self I would have brought.”

“I doubt you should think to apologize at all,” Lady Leowella smiled cheekily, “for if you are not here, then we are stealing the use of this house from you, and so we should make amends.”

Lothiriel shook her head at her friend, settling into her seat by the fire and taking out a pair of trousers that needed mending. Eomer really was too hard on his clothing, the dear man. She beamed down at Caelon as he lay out, covering her toes with his belly, keeping her feet warm and he rested.

“In truth, I doubt you will have little enough ability to ride soon,” Waerhild cautioned, “so it is all the better that you have taken the opportunity as oft as you are able.”

“Why should I not ride?” Lothiriel asked. For a moment a panic hit her, had she put on some weight that people expected she was carrying a child, or was it simply the assumption that she, being a wife, would be with child soon enough?

“The winters here are harder than you might expect,” Waerhild said after a moment of confusion, “though not as hard as the ones further north.”

“Do not scare her,” Lady Leowella chiding, grinning, “I doubt our fine queen has ever even seen snow before.”

“I have!” Lothiriel protested.

“Where?” Lady Leowella pursed her lips, and leaning forward at little, almost challenging her.

“On the mountaintops there,” Lothiriel gestured in the direction of the whitecapped peaks in the distance.

“That is not the same!” Lady Leowella fell into a fit of laughter with the other women.

Lothiriel took the opportunity to pretend that she had made the statement as a joke, and joined them, but she did feel a little foolish. She wanted to ask what snow was like but thought it would sound stupid if she asked.

For a time, they fell into a companionable silence as they worked at their tasks, a few of the other ladies speaking together and laughing at something. Lothiriel looked at them, smiling a little, but did not ask what they were discussing. She had always liked to watch people and guess at what they thought and said. It was a little game that she played with herself and had on occasion plated with Boromir. They would watch people at court and make up stories about the scenes that played out, creating words to fill what they could not hear. Those situations had always turned positively absurd, such as a lord being concerned that one of his peers had eaten the former’s prized hunting hawk.

She had not thought about that for some time, and she was surprised that she still felt the pang of loss. If she had married Boromir, she would be a widow now, or perhaps he would have stayed in Minas Tirith. No, he would have still gone, and she would have been sent… where? Where would she have been now, if those things had happened? They were not things that should be thought on, and she tried to put them from her mind.

“Did the King accompany you?” Lady Leowella asked, blessedly taking Lothiriel’s mind from the depressing path it was setting out on.

“He did,” Lothiriel smiled, “it was quite nice to have some of his time.”

“Does he not give you attention?”

“No, he is…” there were words that she could say, but none of them seemed appropriate, “He is a very good man. We have both simply been rather occupied of late.”

A look came into Leowella’s eyes that Lothiriel could not quite decipher but it seemed after a moment to be relief, “He has ever been a kind sort, and, well, attentive.”

It was such an odd thing for her to say, that Lothiriel stared at her for a moment. The question came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop it, “Did you find him attentive?”

“It was quite a while ago,” Lady Leowella said hastily, confirming the suspicion that had newly come into Lothiriel’s mind, “but rather.”

Lothiriel nodded smiling carefully. They had been lovers, then, and no one had told her.

“I thought you knew,” Lady Leowella supplied awkwardly, catching the looks that Waerhild and Baldgwyn were giving her and she paled a little at the fierceness in their faces.

“I had not,” Lothiriel said, chuckling, “but if it was so long ago as that I see no harm. I hardly expected my husband not to have had a life before we met.”

It was true, and sound, but she wanted to gather up the others and demand they explain to her why not one of them had said anything. Were any of the other women her husband’s former lovers? He was a handsome man, and he was young. She had never asked, and would never ask, about who had been with before her. It was not her place to ask such things, but she had already worried about that matter. She simply wished someone would tell her.

Lady Leowella seemed to relax, bowing her head, “I am your servant, Your Grace.”

0x0x0

Eomer had done nothing in their bed but sleep for the last three nights, and Lothiriel was not certain why. He was not displeased with her. Nothing else had changed between them but that one thing.

She did not know how to ask him to touch her and decided that he was likely tired from his works, and meetings. The alternative was that his attention had left her, but that seemed unlikely as he still roused her gently from sleep to ask her to ride or eat with him if it was too cold.

He seemed to take a special concern with the effect of the cold on her and had rekindled the fire in the morning to be certain that she was warm enough. He held her and petted at her with a casual ease, and fondness, but did nothing further than that.

It frustrated her, and she lay in bed beside him, kissing him and hoping that he would take the hint, or else feel some urge that needed to be tended to, but he withdrew from her lips after a moment with a smile, kissed her brow and settled back to sleep, holding her close against his chest.

There had to be something that she could do, but lacking experience in this matter, could not quite imagine what it was that that thing could be. She wished she could ask one of the women she knew, but it was too embarrassing to admit that after only two months her husband had seemingly lost interest in her.

There were letters begun and abandoned, to her brother’s wife, and to her aunt in reply to the letters that they had sent her in which she asked them what she ought to do. But she could not bear having even her own family know that she was failing in this aspect of her marriage. She was trying to think of it in that way, because framing it around the importance of their union rather than her own disappointment gave her a way to think about what was not happening in a way that she could manage it.

Lothiriel looked at Eomer, who had not fallen asleep yet, and kissed him, not being able to think of something else to do. He smiled at her, stroking her cheek.

“You are so very lovely,” he murmured, nestling her back beside him, smoothing his hand over her hair.

She smiled through her frustration, trying to work out how to get him to do what she wanted. The obvious thing was of course to ask, but she couldn’t do that. The words stopped at her throat, and she felt a sudden wash of anxiety over what he would say or think of her if she did that.

Perhaps she should speak to Leowella. If they had been lovers, she might know what should be done. But she ran into the same problem of people knowing that she was failing him.

But he was still stroking her hair and holding her so gently. It was a balm against her uncertainty, but it made her want so much more than that.

0x0x0

Leowella had not wanted to like Eomer’s wife. She had fully intended to hate her, especially considering that it seemed that Eomer had wed out of duty to his country. She had been prepared for a snobbish woman who would snarl quietly at the lot of them but could not hate the girl that had come to be their queen, even as it hurt to see Lothiriel.

She had pushed past her discomfort to introduce herself to Lothiriel Queen, not out of a wish to cause any trouble, but more because she was struck by how alone Lothiriel seemed, even surrounded by people. Lothiriel Queen seemed like a child surrounded by people telling her that she was doing well, but not doing much more than that.

There was never any intention to hurt Lothiriel Queen, and she wanted to be happy for Eomer. She was, but she wished she was the one that had made him so happy.

Lothiriel Queen had invited her to sit with the other women and had seemed to enjoy her company, in a generally scandalized sort of way, as if Her Grace could not imagine someone being as forthright with their opinions in her presence. It seemed to delight her. And the few times they had sat where others could not overhear them, Lothiriel had replied almost in kind. There was a mischievous streak in her, and Leowella was charmed by the shyly bold Queen.

Leowella rounded a corner and almost ran into Lady Baldgwyn. She forced herself to smile rather than grimace at the meddling woman, “Pardon me, my lady.”

“Are you going to the Queen?” Lady Baldgwyn asked, smiling sweetly, and not moving from Leowella’s path.

“I am. She sent me to fetch some thread that she had left.”

“Then you have been in the Royal chambers?”

“No,” Leowella felt the challenge building between them, and was too tired to have this, “Her maid went to find it for me.”

Lady Baldgwyn’s smile hardened even as she seemed relieved by this information, “It would be entirely inappropriate for you to be in the Royal Chambers.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Especially without Lothiriel Queen.”

Leowella felt her heart pounding wildly at the inference, and she could feel it pushing its way into her throat, suffocating her.

“I am sure you mean no harm, but I should make it clear that if you have any devices of reinstating yourself in Eomer King’s affections, they would be inappropriate as well. You are aware of that, are you not?”

Leowella scowled at the busybody matron, “My only thought is to give the Queen companionship. She seems terribly alone,” Leowella tilted her head a little, “And I think you have attempted to allay that, but she might do better with a companion closer to her own age.”

The quick flash of unconcealed rage crossed Lady Baldgwyn’s face, and she stepped closer to the younger lady, “Perhaps it is as you say, but I would like to be clear. If you hurt her, I will not hesitate to respond in like kind.”

“Is that a threat?”

“If you are true in your intentions and in what you have said, then there is no need to fear,” Lady Baldgwyn’s smile was like that of a vicious animal. It was a smile made to tear throats.

“I beg your pardon, my ladies,” the King’s voice startled them both. They had been so involved in their own gauntlet throwing that they had not heard or noticed Eomer King’s approach, “But I had wondered if I might ask something of you.”

They both dropped into quick curtsies and took that moment to collect themselves and compose a serene image of ladylike, courtly women.

“We are of course your servants, my lord King,” Leowella said, trying to ignore her traitorous heart, reminding herself that she was friends with Eomer’s wife, and that his wife was a good woman. But still, standing in his gaze affected her. She could feel the contained rage building in Lady Baldgwyn, and she took the victory of it.

“It is rather…” Eomer King faltered, “I have been meaning to learn to dance, as I know it would please the Queen, but I have not done so. You are both in her confidence, and I thought perhaps you might help me?”

Leowella felt the sweetest agony at the request. He was such a good man, and she hoped that Lothiriel Queen was worth such dedication. There had been so many women that had wanted him to dance with them, but he had stalwartly refused. She knew it was because he thought his movements too clumsy, and feared embarrassment, but he was trying now, as he had not in the past.

She wanted to help, even if it was for the selfish reason of being close to him. But she could not give into that temptation. She was not the sort of woman that would try to come between a loving couple. Her entire life had been framed around Eomer, and she had always been there when he wanted her. He had been with other women, but he had always come back to her.

Lady Baldgwyn smiled, testing Leowella and their gaze met. The older lady’s eyes were widened just a fraction, as if with that murderous grin, the threat was being reissued.

“Unfortunately, my lord King, I must return to the Solar,” Leowella held the bobbin of thread, “Lothiriel Queen only sent me to fetch this for her, and I should not keep her waiting any longer than I already have.”

“Thank you for taking her under your wing,” Eomer smiled, “I know you have been quite a comfort to her.”

Leowella smiled and curtsied, and fought the urge to run. She walked gracefully away, wanting to tell Lothiriel Queen that her husband was the best of men, but decided that if it was meant to be a surprise that she would keep the secret.

She was still in love with him, and she wished that she wasn’t.

Lady Baldgwyn smiled warmly at Eomer as Lady Leowella fled, “Well, we should get to work… Eothain,” she called to Eomer’s guard, “Would you stand in as the lady?”

Eothain looked about the hall quickly to ensure that no one would hear him make fun of his friend. He grinned, walking over, his voice lowed, “It is such an honor!” he waved his hands excitedly, “But my lord…?” he feigned a fainting fit, his hand pressing against his brow.

“Damn you,” Eomer grumbled, trying not to smile.

“I hope you do not mean to speak to your wife in such a way!” Eothain scoffed, “I am simply fulfilling the request that Lady Baldgwyn made! She told me to act as the lady, and I imagine that she will be so full of joy that-”

“If you do not stop, I will rescind the open pardon on your speech,” Eomer threatened.

“You would not,” Eothain laughed, “You knew the sort of man I was when you gave it to me, so you must bear the brunt of its effect.”

“Boys,” Lady Baldgwyn called, giving them the look that had made them behave for a few moments when they were younger, and was pleased that it still worked.

They were still like children sometimes, and it should not have amused her as much as it did.

Eomund had been of the opinion that his children should play with the common children, knowing that they would in some part have influence when they were adults. It had been important that they have genuine relationships with the common people so that they would be able to use their influence with an understanding of the responsibility of their power. Because of this, he had more or less thrown Eomer into the gaggles of children that played in the streets of Aldburg and Edoras.

On a visit to Edoras, when Eomer was six years of age or so, this pair of imps had met and formed a fast friendship. They had never hesitated, and had gotten each other into more and more trouble, Eomer more oft than not taking the blame for their mischief, knowing that he would face less punishment due to his status, and because of his accursed dimples. It had been near impossible to scold Eomer when he was a child because he had been so eager to please the adults and make amends. It was a trait that he had carried in some small way into adulthood, but it had changed quite a bit since that time.

She moved the pair of them, adjusting their stances and shaking her head at the faces that Eothain was pulling. Baldgwyn clucked at him, and tugged his ear, “You behave yourself.”

“Yes, milady,” Eothain looked crestfallen, but after a moment was grinning again.

This was going to be a long day, Lady Baldgwyn only hoped that Lothiriel Queen would be delayed long enough for her to work some magic of proper behavior over these fools.


	9. Chapter 9

Lothiriel sat, waiting for Eomer to collect her for the evening meal, wondering what had detained him, and hoped that he was not as terribly embarrassed as he had acted. She had come into the hall and witnessed Eomer and Eothain jostling and calling at each other in Rohirric. Eothain seemed to be teasing in his good-natured way, but Eomer had seemed honestly irritated. They had not noticed her until Caelon went tearing over to Eomer’s side and Lady Baldgwyn had set her knitting aside to curtsy.

Eomer had fumbled through an explanation, telling Lothiriel that they had been fighting, and that this was simply the way of men before awkwardly excusing himself and fleeing. She had watched him go, Caelon following after him, seeming to think they were playing some game, and Lothiriel had simply stood there. It was at least a comfort that her husband could not lie to save his life. After a moment of silence, Eothain had explained, and had bid Lothiriel to keep the secret, as Eomer had wanted it to be a surprise.

That Eomer was trying to learn to dance was something that she would never have expected, having thought him a headstrong sort of man. He seemed as though having made his mind up, or become set in his ways, he would not change.

Eothain had gone on to explain that the King was likely embarrassed, as he had so long considered such things frivolous, and had thought that it was more important for him to be strong than to enjoy the small pleasures of life. He stopped short of explaining that that strength seemed to exclude any public action that could be deemed feminine, or foolish or… Personally Eothain had never understood it, and so had not felt at leisure to explain it.

The idea of Eomer, her strong husband as timid in some way struck her, and all the more for the fact that multiple people had told her this, but had still not believed it. She wished that he would tell her these things, but then, she had not expected to want him to speak to her. When she had been told of her betrothal, she had been certain that she would be little more than a trophy. Every now and then she tried to remind herself that as Queen, she might be little more than that. But it was harder to think of her marriage as purely political now, because she was beginning to suspect that she was in love with her husband.

He had gone out of his way to ensure her comfort, and to dote on her. She felt, as she sat in their sitting room, that she might be unworthy of such dedication. For every act of kindness, she wondered if she was doing enough. Perhaps she should be finding ways to dote on Eomer, but she could not think of anything. She had never considered herself one of those dull people that lacked imagination, but she would put her mind to it, and find some way to show her appreciation.

She folded and unfolded her hands, thoughtfully, trying to guess what time it was. Perhaps he had been overtaken by work. If that was the case, should she not bring him out of that duty, and remind him that he needed to eat? Chewing her lip, she stood and went from the rooms and went to collect him from his study. She had never entered that room before, having neither been invited nor barred from it, she hoped that she would not be overstepping by rousing her husband from his work.

At his door, she paused, trying to listen, to hear if he was in there, if he was alone. That thought came to her, and she hated herself for it. Eomer was a good man, and he was loyal to her.

She knocked and waited for him to call out before she entered, a little timidly, “My lord?”

Eomer looked up from the sheet of parchment in front of him, and blushed a little before looking at the space beside her, “Are you well?”

“Should we not go into the hall?” she asked.

“Is it that late?” Eomer stood quickly, still not looking at her, “I must beg you to pardon me. I was…” he gestured at his pages.

“I understand,” Lothiriel smiled at him, “If you ever wish for help on these matters… I do not mean to overreach, but I should like to be of any help that I am able to.”

He finally looked at her, his features softening, “You might regret making that offer.”

She took his arm gently, resting her hand in the crook of his arm, “You need to take care, my lord husband. I know you have responsibilities, but as you so worry over my health, I must worry over yours.”

Eomer slowed before they left the room, looking at her, his gaze skimming over her face. There was something he wanted to say, she could see it, but he didn’t speak. He turned her face up to him, and stooped down to her, kissing her for a moment. When he withdrew, he looked at her hair, a look of realization coming into his eyes.

“My lord?” Lothiriel asked.

He shushed her gently, smiling as his fingers moved to her face, and gently shifted a curl loose so that it hung against her brow.

“Why?” she asked.

He looked down for a moment, not certain how to answer the question, “It seems right.”

The cheek of him… Lothiriel rolled her eyes at him, tugging on his arm, “Come along.”

Through the meal, he was quiet, and a little stern.

“What was the matter of those pages?” Lothiriel asked, looking at him, wanting to draw him back out of his quietness.

Eomer looked at her, confused for a moment, “Oh, a letter from my lady sister.”

“How is she?”

“Quite well,” Eomer went back to picking at his food.

Are you?” she asked, playfully, nudging his foot with hers, “You are so quiet.”

He gave her no answer but a quick apologetic look.

Deciding to change tactics, she tried again, “I doubt he will be vexed for long.”

“Who?”

“Eothain, of course,” her smile widened, “I should not assume, but perhaps you are concerned that having fought with him, he will be cross with you…” She watched his face, unable to read his expression, and felt as if she had taken a few running yards backwards from him

After a moment, his features shifted a little, and he took up her hand, kissing her knuckles, and looking at the wedding band on her finger with a distant, almost thoughtful expression. “I am certain it will pass.”

Perhaps she should have told him that she knew what he was planning, and that she was touched. But that would require telling him that his dearest friend and confidante had let it slip to her. She could not imagine why he was so embarrassed, why he felt the need to lie and run away from her. He should not feel so ashamed of his actions. Most of the men that she knew danced, so why did he see that as something he ought not do?

Perhaps it was only that she had seen him that made him feel so, though she could not think of a reason for him to be so embarrassed, unless it was more than embarrassment. Perhaps he regretted having married someone that required such effort.

It had been a little over a week since he had touched her, beyond holding her hand, or cuddling her in their bed. He kissed her but stopped short of anything beyond that. She was at a loss for what to do about it, still having not been able to devise some plan to get her way. The idea of begging had come to her, but she could not quite make herself do it. She had never begged for anything in her life, as far as she could remember, the closest that she had ever gotten to it was a screaming rage that demanded obedience. She could not scream at him it would undo all of her work thus far, and would certainly not inspire tender feelings.

Eomer remained quiet, and reserved, and she felt a need to fill the silence, a bad habit that she had thought broken, and he did at least listen to her, seeming interested in her idle chatter.

Later, she went to mingle with the court, and fell in beside Lady Leowella, hiding her exasperation as best she could.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Leowella asked, refilling the Queen’s cup.

“I know you mean well, but I do wish that people would stop asking me that,” Lothiriel replied.

“You would have your loyal subjects not concern themselves over your wellbeing?”

“Hush now, you know that was not my meaning.”

“You simply seem out of sorts.”

“I am perfectly well,” Lothiriel smiled, her jaw just a little to tense. “Eomer King is simply been overworking himself, and I am concerned.”

“You are a good wife,” Leowella replied, watching the Queen all but drain her cup. There was a nervous tremor in her hands. Something was wrong between the Royal Couple, it seemed, and Leowella felt for the young woman. She seemed completely unsure of herself, and her worth. “Eomer King is fortunate to have you.”

Lothiriel blushed, “In truth he has done far more than I.”

“You have taken over the management of his household, and from what I have heard, you rectified the entire accounting system. You have hardly been sitting about with no purpose but vanity.”

“I have done nothing but my duty,” Lothiriel said, looking casually about to ensure that no one was listening to her.

“Then you must find something to do that is not driven only by duty.”

“That post is filled by you, my lady. Your company has been quite a comfort, I confess. I know we are still newly acquainted, but I feel rather as if most of the stress of my life is removed by your friendship.”

Lady Leowella smiled at Lothiriel, seeing, not for the first time, the frightened, and lonely child that she must have been, and in some ways still was. She wanted to be perfect so terribly, and it would break her, “I am pleased to be of service.”

Lothiriel had considered asking Leowella to advise her on the matter of her relationship, as the other had been intimate with Eomer in the past and might be able to tell her what to do. Besides their celibacy, she truly had no complaints of her husband. Well, their celibacy, and the fact that he currently seemed unable to meet her gaze for more than a few moments.

If he did not speak to her, how was she to know what the trouble was? Even thinking that question, Lothiriel was aware of her own hypocrisy. She was hardly capable of expressing certain thoughts and desires, so perhaps it was the same in her husband.

They had only been married close to two months now. She had not planned to take her seclusion, even as she knew that time must be drawing near. She was not certain how to feel about the idea of being in the public eye in such a natural state, or even sharing a bed with her husband. At least she did not need to concern herself that he would be overcome by desire for her in that week or so, he seemed not to be overcome when she was not.

0x0x0

“I should say that I love my brother dearly, but I think I might need to kill him,” Eowyn grumbled, reading over his letter again.

Faramir set his coffee down, studying his wife. He liked when her temper flared, especially when her ire was directed at anyone that was not himself. Her irritability had over the last month or so been place firmly at the feet of her brother, whom had taken on the loving title of “That idiot”.

“What has Eomer done now?” Faramir asked, trying not to smile expectantly at the news from Rohan.

“That idiot has allowed Lothiriel to become friends with…” Eowyn flummoxed a moment, trying to think of how to describe his relationship with Leowella. They had never been anything serious, but she had never been entirely convinced that Leowella knew that. “One of his lady friends.”

“Would you rather Lothiriel become friends with the soldiers?”

“Rather,” Eowyn replied, realizing she was not explaining the situation properly, “At least the soldiers and by and large not in love with him.”

“Oh…” Faramir’s eyes widened a fraction, “I had not realized that manner of friendship…” he got to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I should write to Lothiriel, as I doubt that she is aware.”

“We agreed not to involve ourselves,” Eowyn said, a little irritably.

Faramir sat back down with a grunt, “Will he resume any sort of relationship with this other woman?”

“Things would need to be much worse between them for that,” Eowyn said, dismissively.

“Then what is the cause of your irritation?”

“That my fool of a brother has not considered that Lothiriel might want to know that. He seems to be of the opinion that such a thing is completely natural.”

Faramir stared out over the expanse of woodlands that stretched about their palace, trying to work out the confusion in his mind, “Lothiriel is a rather social person, perhaps this lady would be a help to her.” He truly wanted to believe it, “Lothiriel would likely feel out of sorts having moved, and I would like to believe that she will make up her own mind about this…”

“But?”

“Was your brother dropped as a child? Frequently? On his head?” Once he had asked the question, he was concerned that Eowyn would take offense. She was of the opinion, rightly established, that she could speak of Eomer in this way, but did not accept anyone else doing so.

She laughed, “I have often wondered.” She settled back in her chair, rubbing her brow, “I so want to believe it will work itself out to their benefit, but I cannot imagine how he thinks this is acceptable. Has she written to you?”

“She has, but her letters have been banal at best.”

Eowyn shook her head, “I will write to her, not discussing this matter, but to allay my own concerns, and assure her that she is my sister, and that she might confide in me, should she need."

“You are a treasure,” Faramir smiled, standing to kiss her cheek. In truth, he thought he might be better able to write Lothiriel but could not outright tell Eowyn so. He loved his wife, and she could on occasion be subtle, but she was an Eorlinga, and rather given to directness.

“Have you allowed me to befriend any such women?” Eowyn asked suddenly, making the point of her bluntness for him.

“Of course not!” Faramir protested. It was true, and it was in part because most of those ladies were still in Minas Tirith. Whenever they were in the capitol, he had taken great cares to avoid any such introductions as that. Eowyn had given up her preconceived notions of war, and of fighting, but Faramir lived with the certainty that if any of his former lovers said a word out of turn that his beloved wife would not hesitate to thrash them in the middle of courtly entertainments. He had considered what he would do if such a situation was to arise and decided that the best course of action was to hold whatever accessories Eowyn handed him, and stay clear of the brawl, perhaps calling out encouragements to his wife, but perhaps not. He should write to Eomer to ask for advice in case he would need it.

He should also try to write to the rest of the family and see if Lothiriel had been more forthcoming with any of them. It was not his business he knew, and he should say if asked that he was only concerned for his little cousin, but in truth, the gossip in him wanted more information about Lothiriel’s marriage.

0x0x0

Eomer combed his fingers through his wife’s hair, feeling more comfortable sitting behind her back. It was clear that she wanted him to speak to her, and not feel as skittish as he did, and he wanted so badly to relax, but each time he started to, his fear of her laughing at him came back. It should not matter to him, it never should, but it always did. He hated it, and himself for being so weak.

She turned to him with a shy, hopeful smile as he finished tying her hair off, “Thank you.”

He looked at her, confused. This small ritual has become so commonplace between them, that he had hardly thought about it anymore. It was simply a small moment of normality in their lives, a small comfort that he was taking for granted by now. She had never thanked him before, because there had never been any reason for her to.

Eomer smiled, an expression as quickly given as it stopped, and he kissed the side of her head, wanting her to stop looking at him. It was absurd, and stupid, but he wanted to snuff the candles and sleep.

Lothiriel watched him climb away from her, off of the bed, and she felt a small pang in her chest. The only thing that she could think of was to climb under the covers and pull down his side of the bed.

He went over to the fire, ensuring that it was well lit, and that it would keep for a time, sliding another log into place.

A thought came to her and she moved quickly, slipping the shoulder of her nightgown down a bit, hoping that she appeared natural rather than desperate. She was little desperate for him to touch her, and make love to her. She needed to produce an heir, she reasoned against the quick sense of shame that came over her.

He was still crouching by the fire, tending it with a dedication that seemed beyond necessary, and she considered throwing a pillow at his head, or dropping something loudly on the floor to regain his attention. Before she could enact any such plan, Eomer stood slowly up and turned back to her, meaning to come back to bed, but the sight of her gave him pause. The way that she appeared in that moment, lit by the warm glow of the fire, sent the first shot of heat through him. There was something almost welcoming about her look, but also almost false somehow, though he could not quite point to what made it so.

He composed himself and climbed into bed, aware of her eyes on him, and he looked back at her. Her gaze was not seductive but seemed more a sort of nervous attempt to fulfill some expectation. He was not of a mood to do anything besides sleep, and certainly did not want her to feel that it was necessary for her to allay his own anxieties with her body, if she even knew that was what he was feeling. She seemed so blissfully unaware of how hard he tried to please her, and likely thought that it took no effort. She would therefore have no concept of him feeling anything but courage and self-assuredness. He was not yet ready to let her think anything else of him.

He could not recall ever having rejected the interests of a lady before but was certain he had. This would however be different, as he was not certain that she was anything more than willing, and the greater matter being that if she was, that she was his wife. He could not rightly brush her aside or affect distance to gain the right of going to sleep. Nor did he in truth want to be distant. He was more than a little certain that he had fallen in love with her and did not want to damage the trust that was building between them. She was still… not cold toward him, but hesitant at times and he wanted her to feel entirely comfortable with him. She should, by now, have felt so.

His concern was that he could not be entirely certain of her feelings, as she had indicated little more than that she enjoyed his company. She had not recoiled from his touch, and had never denied him, but she had not given any indication that she wanted him physically. He was trying very hard to not feel frustration at their celibate relationship. He knew he was acting morally, but he wanted to be with her as a husband. She managed the household, and so knew how much laundry came in and out of the Hall. Had she wondered about the influx of hand towels going through the laundry?

He kissed her gently, resting his brow against hers, taking a shallow breath before righting her nightgown, “I do not want you to catch a chill.”

There was a quick flash of disappointment in her eyes, for a moment before she spoke, “Thank you. Your concern is a credit to you.”

That look made him realize the mistake her had made, but he had done it, and she laid her head on the pillow, facing away from him, nestled under the covers. He wished he could see her expression.

Had she wanted him, then? He was not sure and could not quite make himself ask, feeling more embarrassment and wanting to beg her to tell him that he was not a fool or a waste of her time. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that his statement, made a few times now, that he would give her anything that she requested extended to their bed.

Looking over the shadowy form of Lothiriel, he bit the inside of his cheek, for a moment before shaking the thought from his head and curling up behind her. She had been forthright enough with him, and he was certain that if she had wanted him to make love to her, she would have pressed him, rather than rolling over. She seemed less and less like the kind of woman that took orders at the whims of others without some protest.

He pulled her tight to his chest, burying his face in her shoulder. “You are quite dear to me,” he whispered, softening as her hand reached back to stroke his hair.

His words were sweet, and seemed honestly given, but Lothiriel wanted to slap the side of his hand rather than pet it and tell him that if she was so dear as that then he might show her better by taking his breeches off. But anything that she thought of to say in that vein would be lurid, and not decent in the least. She pressed her thighs tightly together, trying to smother the fire burning in her.

Turning carefully, she looked at his face, his eyes closed in sleep. He was able to fall asleep so much faster than she, and she wondered how he managed it. She moved carefully to not wake him and smoothed a few strands of hair back from his face. He was handsome, a fact that had never completely evaded her, but she had started noticing it more regularly.

He curled a little, nestling his head against her chest.

She felt proud, as if she had accomplished something heretofore unthinkable. It was strange to feel so, as they slept in a manner similar to this almost every night. And stranger still for she had not managed to accomplish her goal, but still his comfort was something.

0x0x0

Eomer awoke, nestled against her, and feeling rather comfortable. She was so soft and warm.

The reason he always ensured that the fire was lit was apparent at a glance, as she had kicked the covers back again, and had thrown her leg up on the covers. He had woken a few times to her sleeping this way and shivering.

Shifting carefully so as to not wake her, Eomer pulled the covers back over her, trailing the back of his fingers over her body as he did. She was so beautiful, and he wanted nothing more than to awake her with kisses, but he held back.

He still felt rather foolish. He should have pushed his luck just a little the night before and seen if she had wanted him, but the caution held fast, as he feared that he would be coercing her into submission. He wanted her to initiate intimacy, though perhaps she had tried to last night.

Bema, he was a fool.

Eomer rested his hand on her shoulder, stoking over the fabric gently. “Darling,” he whispered, smiling at her irritable groaning, “Would you rather I let you sleep?”

She opened her eyes slowly, almost glaring at him as she woke.

His fingers smoothed over her cheek, “I can let you be, if you wish.”

Her fingers rubbed at her eyes, trying to keep them open, mumbling something, and turning her face into the pillow.

“Do you want me to have some coffee brought for you?” he asked, smiling at her, his hand smoothing her hair back.

She grumbled out an affirmation, pulling the covers over her head.

Eomer chuckled, considering telling her that he would do so in a moment, and cuddling against her. The cold was coming on, and she felt so warm. He could just rub his hands over her back and hold her against him for a few moments, perhaps kiss her neck and her face. But she hated the mornings so, that he was all but certain that any attentions of that sort would irritate her.

Having told a servant to bring them breakfast, he climbed back into bed, laying down beside her and listening to her breathing. “Breakfast will be up soon,” he whispered, watching her roll toward him and nestle back against his chest. She shifted a leg over his, pressing a cold foot against his calf. His drowsy little love…

It was not the first time that he had thought that word about her and wondered if he should tell her that he loved her. No, it might be too soon, yet, and he wanted to be certain that he loved her for her, and not simply for the relief of them getting along. He didn’t want to tell her and frighten her.

Why were these things so difficult?

Lothiriel looked up at him suddenly and pulling back.

“You are alright,” Eomer said, gently catching her shoulders in her hands.

“I…”

“Bad dream?” he asked.

She stared at him, not certain what she should say. It was not that she had never clutched him that way, but they had not been doing anything that should have garnered such a response. “I…”

He was watching her in that attentive way, “Last night, were you attempting to seduce me?”

Lothiriel’s eyes widened, “No.” She almost said, of course she had not, that a lady would never do such a thing. Her face betrayed her she knew it did, she could feel it.

He smiled, “my mistake, then.”

She looked away shaking her head, “I cannot imagine where you would get such ideas.”

“Nor can I,” he smirked, “though, if you had thought to, I would not complain of it.”

Her head turned a little quickly, her brow furrowing.

He stretched his arms up for a moment before tucking them under his head, pretending not to notice the look she was giving him, trying not to feel smug about the fact that his wife might want him. Perhaps she would take the offer of his body, and he hoped she would. He raised a brow at her, trying to encourage her.

Lothiriel sat up, trying to work out a response, but still feeling rather groggy. “You would not?”

He looked at her, confused, “You are my wife.”

“Yes, but…” she looked away, blushing.

Eomer sat up, watching her. He was on the point of telling her that she had nothing to be ashamed of, a point that ran counter to his own anxieties, but he was not able to hold the moment long enough. There was a light knock at the door.

She got up out of bed, and pulled her robe on, “That would be breakfast. You have not been eating as much as you ought to have these last few days.”

He realized that he had never told her that he was trying to be respectful of her, that he wanted there to be more between them, that to him there was. Somehow it did not seem like the right time to discuss it.

“Will you come riding?” Eomer asked, sitting down to eat with her.

“I have too much on today,” she said, smiling regretfully, as she poured his coffee and fixed it for him, “I have a meeting with some of the war widows of common standing to discuss their conditions and see if they have any recommendations for the government.”

Eomer looked up at her, surprised, “Did you arrange that yourself.”

She hummed an affirmation, her mouth full of coffee as she set her cup back down, “I have heard that there have been some issues with the pensions, all resolved now. But I would like to see if there is any other way that we might be of help.”

“Let me know if there is anything.”

“I intend to put together a report.”

He chuckled, “You should have been kept in Gondor. I doubt they know what they lost in letting you marry me.”

She pursed her lips, trying to think of a response to that, “I am pleased to be where I am, husband.”

“All the better for it,” Eomer beamed, “for I have no intention of letting you go.”

“Even if I wanted to?”

His smile turned mischievous, “I would lock you up until you saw sense.”

“Oh, so I am permitted to have my seclusions, I would simply need to convince you that I am plotting an escape.”

“I can assure you the most comfortable accommodations that our dungeons can offer.”

She giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth, “Might I still have visits from Caelon, or would I lose that right?”

“I cannot have him near a prisoner,” Eomer shook his head, “He might learn all manner of bad habits, and I cannot have that at all.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only for a minute or two.”

She stood and came around the table to wrap her arms around his neck, “Thank you, my kindly husband. It will certainly make my imprisonment more tolerable.” He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer against him.

She sat on his lap without a second thought but did after a moment seem to regret not having brought her coffee with her, “Would you be so kind?” she gestured to her cup.

“It will cost you dearly.”

Tilting her head, Lothiriel asked, “What is the cost then?”

“I hesitate to mention it,” he said, taking in her impatient look, “It will cost you a kiss.”

“Oh, then I should simply fetch it myself.”

Eomer tightening his hold on her, “That would also cost you a kiss.”

She huffed a little, “This is extortion.”

“Indeed, someone should complain to the king of it.”

It was truly against her better judgment, but she liked when he teased her. She leaned forward, meaning to give him a quick peck, a plan that was complete undermined by his hand pressed to the back of her head, holding her in place against his lips. When he finally released her, she smacked a hand against his shoulder.

Ensuring that she was not in fact angry with him, he reached the short distance and picked up her coffee, refilled it and passed it into her hands.

The thought came to her against her bidding, but having had it, she tried to squash it, and enjoy herself. Had he been this was with Leowella, or any of his other women?

She was still trying to decide what he meant by him saying that he wanted her to seduce him. It was likely a joke, the same as saying he would lock her up in a dungeon. He could hardly expect her to act the way that his mistresses did. For one thing, she had no idea how to manage that, clearly. At least he had not thought her an inept fool but had simply thought that her nightgown had slipped and had been concerned.

How did one even go about seducing a man? In her experience, seduction was not about subtilty, but then, her romantic experiences had been rather slim. There had been that mess with Lord Peldirion, and a few younger lords that had been a little forward, but nothing substantial that she could look back on to draw inspiration. She had expected Eomer to be like those men, a fact that she would never admit. Hell, she barely wanted to tell him about any of those instances. He seemed rather a jealous sort for all his pretense of not caring.

More than that, if he, or anyone else found out that she was all but damaged, would he send her back? She had not considered the possibility, having put all of those memories behind her.

“Where are you?” he asked suddenly, pulling her back to the moment.

“Hm?”

“You seemed to be a thousand leagues away.”

“Just trying to think out my day. I do not want to forget anything.” She was going to need to take on a secretary, she knew. Lady Baldgwyn had been mentioning it, and Lothiriel was tempted to give her the post simply to appease her.

Eomer did not quite believe her but thought better of asking her to tell him the truth, “You will be perfect as ever.”

“I am hardly perfect,” Lothiriel scoffed.

“You are,” Eomer assured her, nuzzling against her shoulder before remembering himself.

The sound of her indulgent disbelief echoed in her cup, and she stood, “I had best call for Heohild.”

His hand reached out for her, trailing over the back of her robe. He would look over his schedule and try to find a few days where he might be able to abscond with her. They might go to Aldburg. It would give her an opportunity to look over the house and fields, and more than that have some time together without interruption.

They had not taken much time together beyond the few hours they were able to steal. He still owed her a honeymoon, having had enough good sense not to think that she would be entirely comfortable going away with him. Perhaps he should arrange something now that they knew each other a little better.


	10. Chapter 10

Faramir smiled at Lothiriel’s newest letter, shaking his head a little.

“What does your cousin say?” Eowyn asked, doing her best to be calm and ladylike, and not show how much she had craved gossip from the Meduseld Court. It had to be a mess, and she wanted to hear what her brother’s foolishness had brought on.

“She bids me not to concern you,” Faramir smiled, wickedly.

“Oh pish, she knows you will tell me, whatever it is.”

“She only writes that she is well, and that she has,” he scanned through the letter looking for the line, “’Done quite a silly thing, having become bosom companions with one of my lord’s former mistresses. But I admit that she is a dear lady, and that we sit and laugh together quiet often.’”

“Former mistress, indeed,” Eowyn scoffed, a quick and all-consuming rage at the absurdity of it all coming on, “they were only fucking!”

Faramir’s eyes widened a little at the word, having never heard his lady wife use such language

“Do not look at me in such a way,” she smiled through her own embarrassment at the way that she had just spoken. It was not in her character, but the debacle that her brother’s marriage seemed to be, irked her to no end. “Does Leowella think that was her position?”

“Lothiriel does not say, but I believe so. It seems that no one told her, but,” he a paragraph over quickly, “It seems that she has been assured that whatever the relationship was is over and has been for some time.”

“She is not a bad person, but I do hope that she does not have any ideas about resuming her former position,” Eowyn said, slathering more butter than was needed on a scone. Perhaps she was being uncharitable and making assumptions that were based in what she assumed her own actions would be. There was no reason, no logical one at least, that she could actually think of that Lothiriel should not be friends with that silly little fool.

When she considered it, what honestly bothered her was the strange disconnect between Lothiriel’s letters and Eomer’s. He was clearly in love with her, and had as good as said so, whereas Lothiriel by and large wrote of her work, and her accomplishments. There could be reasons for this, but Eowyn hated being so far removed from her brother, and that she had no idea what was happening beyond what the pair of them wrote.

Her anger was directed only at her fool of a brother for not telling her of their former entanglement. There were a few women in the court that he had been entangled with in one way or another, and perhaps it was better to leave the past where it lay rather than dredging it all up. He was a loyal man, and even with his complete inability to write an agreeable letter, it was clear that he was besotted with Lothiriel. Eowyn wished a visit could be arranged one way or the other so that she might be able to see to the matter herself.

“She also writes that she does not wish to be advised against such things as she seems to think it is better to keep such a lady where she might be able to observe her,” Faramir all but grumbled, folding the letter, “but knowing her, I think it more probable that she is only offering up an excuse for her friendship and meaning to seem as though she is clever.”

“Do you think she is not?” Eowyn asked.

“She is not stupid, but she is rather young and often given to trusting to her emotions over her logic.”

“Is that so terrible?”

“No, but it does not lend itself to political success. Especially if she has not turned her attentions fully to her marriage.” He loved his little cousin, but being, as his wife, only able to discern what the state of her marriage was by her letters, was concerned that there was no mention of any affection, beyond her continued assurances that Eomer King was kind to her, nor was there any mention of a pregnancy. She made little mention of whether or not she was able to ally herself any of the lords of Eomer’s court, or if any of them would stand for her if there was some matter against her in Rohan.

“She has done all that she should have and more,” Eowyn replied, not liking the tone her husband was taking on, her own feelings were so different from the way that the Gondorian nobility seemed to consider marriage. The sole purpose of marriage, as far as any of the members of their rank see, was to shore up their political power, and to birth sons.

“I do not mean to say that she has been anything other than a success, but you know that I speak truly when I say that there is a goodly amount of pressure for her to produce an heir.” Faramir’s tone had softened, but there was still a biting edge to his words. Whether those words were true or not was not the point.

“It has not been three months yet,” Eowyn scoffed at him, “Do you expect her to act as a breeding bitch that will pup as quickly as that?”

Faramir’s face fell, “I did not say that!”

“Has someone else?”

He hesitated, a moment, fidgeting with the letter, “Her father is concerned.”

“What about?”

“The main point seems to be that if Lothiriel does not produce an heir, or Eru forbid, lose her temper and displease your brother that he might send her back.”

“He should hold those concerns at bay until there is reason. From what my brother writes, they see quite content, his own stupidity aside.” She knew more than she had said, not wanting to even try to explain the bizarre plan that Eomer had put in place to win his wife’s heart. It was sweet, but she wondered what Lothiriel thought of the whole thing and could not ask as Lothiriel had not written to her of it. “Besides he has little enough right to feel so. If he was so concerned of Lothiriel’s marriage and her happiness, he should have let them court rather than simply marrying her off at the first sign of Eomer’s interest.”

Eowyn could not see Eomer sending his wife back to her family as if she were a borrowed piece of crockery. Were they expecting him to attach a note to her breast that read, “Thank you for the use of this, terribly sorry for having kept it so long” and consider the matter closed?

They had been through this so many times that there was hardly any hope of winning the argument now, “Your brother needed a wife, and Lothiriel needed a husband. I do not recall him complaining of it at the time.”

Eowyn rolled her eyes, “I forget that in this country a maid over the age of twenty years is considered ancient. It is a wonder you were allowed to marry such an aged lady as I.”

“For all your years, you are still fresh as the first budding rose that comes in spring,” Faramir teased her.

She kicked him under the table, scowling through her amusement.

0x0x0

Eomer had become rather reinvigorated by the idea that his wife might have been attempting to seduce him, whether it had been successful or not. He was trying to decide the best way to discuss it with his wife, but she did not seem overly keen on discussing such private matters. But it gave him some shred of hope. He explained as much when Eothain asked how the plan was progressing as they took their midday meal, and Eomer smiled to himself at his friend’s look of irritable confusion.

“Then you have made little progress?” Eothain asked.

“No! I know Lothiriel a bit better than I did and have succeeded at pleasing her.”

“You just have not done so in bed.”

Eomer smacked the side of Eothain’s head, grimacing at him, “Are you only capable of offering up such vulgarities?”

“I am capable of other questions, but do you mean to have me believe that you do not miss it?”

“Lovemaking will come in time.”

“Somehow I doubt that this bizarre plan is what Waerhild had in mind,” Eothain grumbled, knowing full well that it was not, having received an earful over the matter more than once, demanding to know if Eomer had explained his actions yet, “For one, does Lothiriel know that she can ask for such attentions?”

“I have told her regularly that I would do anything she bid me do,” Eomer cut into his venison.

One thing did not, to Eothain’s mind, seem to equate to the other, “Then she has not asked for…?”

“It has only been a few weeks,” Eomer said.

Eothain leaned forward staring at him for a long moment before sitting back, “How are you still sleeping in your bed, and maintaining this rigid celibacy?” The look he received was enough to make Eothain retract his question, “I mean, that it seems a rather difficult situation, all the more when one considers how fond you are of her.”

“I have considered it a trial of my patience,” Eomer replied with as much control as he could manage.

“You have never been particularly patient.”

“I hardly had a reason to be so before, but I do not want to…” he cut another piece of meat and ate, taking a moment as he chewed to think. “I do not want her to feel that she must do anything. Your wife is a wise woman, and her words have rather haunted me. I do wonder now if I have not been as aware of these things as I should have been.”

“It is rather likely,” Eothain said, “I do not wish to call you out, or shame you, but in the past you might have been rather…”

Eomer shook his head, “Well that is in the past, and I mean to not make such mistakes now.”

“Because you love her?”

“Hush now.”

Eothain grinned, “Have you told her?”

“I will, but not yet.”

“Why should you not?”

“Does it not still seem rather soon?”

“How should I know?” Eothain laughed, “Your queen is a dear woman, and I do not doubt that she would be pleased to hear that you feel so.”

“I will consider it.”

Sometimes Eothain wondered if they would not have done better to keep Lady Eowyn to be their Queen and send Eomer to Gondor. He loved the man as a brother, and he had done well so far in his reign, but sometimes the foolishness that came out of his mouth led Eothain to wonder if Lothiriel had assumed command of the government through Eomer, the disconnect of his intelligence seemed so stark. It would not have surprised him.

He truly was rooting for them and knew that he should spell out where they were both missing the mark, but he was far too excited to watch them continue to bungle their way along through their fledgling relationship. It was like some great comedic story and would have been if those involved did not in fact seem to be harmed by their actions.

0x0x0

It was one of those days where the chill was not so terrible and could be tolerated for a few minutes at a time. Lothiriel had taken the opportunity to play with Caelon, sitting with Leowella outside of her little solar house while the other ladies worked inside. They would return soon enough, but she just wanted a few moments to build up the courage to ask the question out of the hearing of the other women.

Lothiriel scratched at Caelon’s head, his shaggy fur ruffling as he smiled up at her. “You are such a good boy! You are the best boy, yes you are!”

The dog, clearly finding himself worthy of praise, rested his head on his mistress’ lap to prolong her attention. The full effect of his charms was, in his experience, best seen in an attitude of leisure.

He found that his master’s new wife was a perfectly agreeable lady, and seemed to have excellent tastes, as evident by her opinions of him. If he was honest with himself, the action that had garnered this praise, namely fetching the ball that she had thrown, was simple enough, but perhaps she was unaware of that. He was in no way going to complain of it, as she had some meat on her plate inside, and was not as stingy as some of the other ladies that his master had brought about. His thoughts stopped and redirected as she tossed the ball again, and his canine instincts kicked in. He tore through the empty square after it.

Lothiriel bit back a giggle at the single-minded focus as he chased after the ball. She envied him the simplicity of his life, and for an odd moment wished that she had been born an animal, not a wild one surely, but a comfortable house cat perhaps.

“How do you seduce a man?” Lothiriel asked suddenly.

The question was not one that she should ask, Lothiriel knew it, but she was quickly approaching her wits end. She needed to do something. She slept every night next to a man who seemed to have no interest in bedding her.

Leowella almost dropped the dress who’s hem she was carefully embroidering, “My lady?”

Lothiriel almost rolled her eyes looking back to ensure that no one had come outside, “I can hardly ask anyone else.”

“I... can hardly imagine why a married woman would need to ask such things.” Who could she be meaning to seduce? Not Eomer, surely. He had never needed much encouragement.

“Eomer King has been… working so hard, and I…” no matter how much she had tried, she had not been able to find an acceptable reason for asking this. She was either a failure, or a whore, and she could admit to neither. “I simply mean to please him as far as I am able.

Leowella shifted uncomfortably, hearing some falseness in the answer, and wondered if Lothiriel meant to carry on some affair. The very thought of it turned her stomach, even as she tried to assure herself that it could not be the case. “Well, I suppose it would depend on what you wanted to achieve.”

“I should think that would be obvious.”

“I…” Leowella wanted a stiff drink to be brought to her at once but was not certain that such a thing would encourage trust between herself the Lothiriel Queen. “You might simply tell him what you want.”

Until that moment, Lothiriel had been rather proud of herself for not blushing, but she tried to imagine that conversation playing out, and it never seemed to work out in her mind the way that not lead to complete mortification. How was one to walk into their husband’s study and say “Hello, my lord husband, would you be able to find some time in your schedule to bend me over our bed and rut at me like a back-alley harlot?” If there was any such way, someone should tell her so. She was not even certain where these thoughts were coming from, unless some demon had taken possession of her. The only time she could remember anyone even discussing such things were whispers between men that she had overheard.

“Is there not some way that I could simply imply that?” Lothiriel asked, smiling as Caelon came bounding back. She pried the ball from his jaws and threw it again, watching him as he hurried off after his inanimate prey.

Leowella tried not to scoff at her queen, at a nervous young woman. What was it like to live in a society that made women so nervous about their own sexuality? She was aware of the limitations that her own culture placed on the members of her sex, but it seemed that they were granted more freedom than their sisters to the south. There had been some gossip before the wedding, a good number of the women wondered what their new virginal queen would be like. There had been some assumptions that she would be haughty and rude, one of her friends assured her that it was the way of Gondorians. Her brother had been in Minas Tirith with the King and said that the women there would either deride the Eorlinga soldiers who had saved their city, or flirt with them for amusement or to seem bold, as if it was some great joke.

Now, Lothiriel was staring at her a little nervously, as if she believed that Leowella was the gatekeeper of some great, secret knowledge that could be shared if perhaps she said the right password. Had no one ever discussed this with her? Her mother was dead, but she must have at least had some married friend that would tell her what to expect or tell her that there was nothing wrong with her if she felt those natural urges or acted upon them.

“I have never truly considered how to go about such a thing, that I am not certain how to instruct you,” Leowella admitted after a moment, “You had never… before your wedding?”

“No, of course not! If I had, my family would have sent me to live with a religious order!”

Leowella’s eyes widened, “Truly? Why?”

“I am a lady of noble birth. My person was of my state, and my virtue not to be tossed away so carelessly as that.”

“Then they believe that your maidenhead is a commodity?”

Lothiriel’s mouth hung open for a moment before she realized that she was gaping like a fish, “Well, I certainly do not think it would be described as such.”

“But that is how it sounds, I beg your pardon, You Grace, if I misunderstand.”

The Queen looked down at her hands, her brow furrowing, “It simply is not done. A lady is a reflection of her family, and if she reflects poorly, she would thus dishonor her family.” She rubbed her hands together, beginning to feel to cold to say out in the open air, but not wanting to retreat before she received a satisfactory answer.

“To hell with that!” Leowella laughed before she remembered who she was speaking to, “Your Grace, May I speak freely? For you have asked for council that I do not think I can give in some high courtly manner.”

“You had better,” Lothiriel said, already regretting that she had asked, patting her leg to encourage Caelon to come back so that she could throw the ball again.

“He is a passionate man, and in my experience he has never… restrained himself on that matter.”

“Never?” Lothiriel stared at her, “I mean, when he was with you, he never… stopped doing… that?”

This seemed different from what Lothiriel had originally asked, having framed it as the King simply being tired, but it seemed as if there was something else happening between them. It should not have given her hope. She was friends with Lothiriel and cared for her. In her experience, the only trouble with being in a relationship with Eomer was getting him to let her sleep. The only times that he hadn’t been on her was when he had moved on to someone else.

She winced, knowing full well that telling Lothiriel that would give her a likely undo sense of panic.

“What is it?” Lothiriel said.

“Are you in love with him?” Leowella asked, almost wanting her to say that she was. It would hurt her, but at least it would mean that Lothiriel was not simply going to be his wife in name. If she loved him, then they could be happy.

“My lord husband is a good man, and I am blessed in him,” Lothiriel said politely, blushing even harder. She looked away, trying to hide her face.

“But do you love him?”

Lothiriel could not answer it. She could hardly tell anyone that she did, for it might get back to Eomer King, and he would likely think her a silly and stupid girl.

The lack of an answer could mean either but were they not close enough by now that Lothiriel could be honest. It was a simple question. Leowella wanted to shake the young queen. “If you did, it would only be natural.”

“Natural as the act that I cannot seem to manage?” Lothiriel asked, a quiet wistfulness in her voice. She simply wanted to know how to inspire passion in her husband, not to be interrogated as to her own feelings.

“How long has it been?”

“A few weeks,” Lothiriel admitted after a moment of calculation.

Leowella’s eyes widened, “No!”

“Is it more dire than I thought then?” Lothiriel asked, composing herself as best as she could manage. “How was he with you?”

“He was…” Leowella looked at Lothiriel asking silently if she really wanted to know, before she went on, “A bit wild, truth be told.”

“Did he ever hurt you?”

“No, of course not. Has he…”

“No,” Lothiriel said hastily, “He’s been very gentle.”

Was he forcing himself to be something other than he was then? Lothiriel was young, and inexperienced, but they had been married long enough that there should not have been much need for care, unless that was how Lothiriel preferred it. Leowella did not want to imagine them together, but she could not stop herself.

Neither of them could think of anything to say and they sat in silence for a moment.

“Then he never… restrained himself with you?” Lothiriel asked after a moment, “He never just…” she could not think of how to express what she thought, “He never took leave of that aspect of the relationship?”

“You mean did he ever just stop making love to me for no reason?”

Lothiriel blushed to her ears, trying not to imagine them together in some wild embrace, the ways that her infernal imagination had recently made her think of herself with Eomer. She wanted to answer that Leowella had not wanted to give. “I bid you tell me.”

Leowella looked away, “Only when his attentions had moved.”

Lothiriel’s whole body stiffened. Then, it might be what she had thought and had desperately hoped was not true.

“But I am sure that is not the reason,” Leowella said looking back at Lothiriel’s blank face, “He adores you! Anyone can see that.”

A slow smile crept across Lothiriel’s face, “Perhaps.”

There was no way to take back what she had said, and she wished she could, “You Grace, forgive me, and forget what I have said. You know I always say more than I should. I do not think that Eomer King has turned his attention from you.” But if he did… no, Leowella had to stop thinking that way.

“Consider it forgotten,” Lothiriel smiled, taking her friend’s hand, knowing that the worm was in her ear, and it would be rather difficult to shake loose.

0x0x0

Eomer had meant to talk to her, he had even told her that there was something he wanted to discuss with her later. It was hardly his fault that he had been abducted by Lord Fulgar to discuss an economic plan. Nor was it entirely his fault that he had lost track of Lothiriel. He certainly regretted not having forced her to come with him into this dull conversation which was only a reiteration of the meeting that they had adjourned at a stalemate earlier. Eomer slid the plan over to the list of things to discuss with Lothiriel but was not yet certain if he should put that before or after discussing their relationship.

He finally found her on the far side of the hall, speaking with a few of the ladies. He could not hear what they were saying, but he watched Leowella lean to whisper something to Lothiriel. Whatever she had said must have been amusing because Lothiriel’s eyes widened for a second before she threw her head back, laughing, her hand pressed over her mouth.

They were getting along and seemed rather close. He had been nervous about the pair of them together. Simply considering the amount of trouble the pair of them could stir up made his head hurt a little. The pair of them together gossiping about him, comparing notes and weaknesses, was another idea that he could not really stomach, but Lothiriel seemed so happy.

He was willing to accept that the fact that he drank too much was likely his fault, but he did maintain some deniability since he could not remember much of the evening after that point.

0x0x0

Lothiriel expressed the depths of her gratitude to Eothain, “I would offer you my first born, but I think the Mark has already claimed all of my offspring.”

Eothain chuckled setting Eomer on the edge of the bed, “No need, my lady.”

“That’s my baby, too,” Eomer whined, slurring his words, “and if we are offering any such thing of our child, I would rather sleep in the hall.”

“You will do no such thing,” Lothiriel scolded gently, crouching down to remove her husband’s shoes. For once she felt that she had an advantage on him, and she really was trying not to be smug about it, thought Eothain’s laughter was doing little to make her feel humble.

“Is there anything else that I might do to help?” Eothain asked.

“No, thank you,” Lothiriel smiled up at him from where she kneeled.

For a moment, Eothain wanted to tell her. Damn his own entertainment, the queen was such a sweet, quiet thing. It was not that he pitied her, but bless Eomer, she deserved someone more courageous, someone who would tell her what they felt. Eomer was so in love with her, and still would not simply be a man, and tell her so.

He bowed and decided that he would give Eomer an earful the next day.

Once the door shut, Lothiriel stood, and trying to get Eomer out of his tunic, “Arms up.”

Eomer obliged her, leaning forward a little as he did, barely able to focus his eyes. “I am not that drunk.”

“Of course not, my lord,” She looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if she should remove his trousers or not. Taking a deep breath, she decided that she ought to make sure he didn’t sleep in mead-sloshed clothing.

“Now… now we are even!” Eomer beamed a crooked smile at her.

“How so?” Lothiriel asked, tugging his trousers off by the cuffs.

“I tucked you in while you were drunk and now you are going to tuck me while I am only mildly drunk!” Eomer shifted his weight to let his trousers free. Having his wife undress him seemed perfectly natural to him, and in his current state, he was oblivious of the nervousness that Lothiriel felt.

“But I am much lighter than you, and you did not need assistance, so I do not know that that would make us square on that account” Lothiriel laughed, “and as to the point that you are not too intoxicated, you nearly emptied your stomach on Lord Almod.”

“But I did not! And that is an important distinction.”

She folded the clothes a moment before remembering that it was going to the laundry. She had begun to turn to put them in the laundry basket but was stopped by his arms around her waist, holding her firmly in place.

“Eomer, let me go.”

“Never,” he murmured, nuzzling against her chest.

Lothiriel’s shoulders softened a little and she felt her heart melting, “I need to put the laundry up.”

“Leave it on the floor. We have servants,” he peered up at her, trying to decide which of her he should speak to, “Come to bed, and let me hold you.”

“I should get back,” Lothiriel replied, “the hall is still full.”

He whined out some protest, his arms tightening around her, refusing to let go, and she fought back a giggle at it.

“Eomer…” she finally managed to squirm, free at long last and went to fetch him some water, “You head is going to kill you in the morning.”

“So be it,” he slumped back against the headboard, kicking at the covers. He accepted the cup and drained it before holding it out to have it filled. He stared at her in a bleary sort of way, watching her pour the water. She was so graceful, and he decided that he was going to tell her the truth, “I love you.”

“That is nice, dear,” she shook her head, setting the cup on the bedside table, and pulling the covers up over him. She could feel her face burning at his words. He was drunk and saying all sorts of absurd things that she wanted to believe.

“I mean it, Thiriel. I should not say for it is not… I am jealous of Caelon,” he murmured, reaching out to touch her and missing. He grumbled irritably, trying to move toward and failing. Any movement at present seemed to be rather disorienting.

“My lord husband,” she sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hand over the covers, “You have no cause of jealousy.” He had never called her any form of pet name, and she rather liked it.

“You could do so much better,” he mumbled.

“How do you mean.”

He looked back at her, bleary eyed for a long quiet moment.

“Eomer?”

“Hm?”

She laughed at his inability to remember what they were discussing, and she deciding she would fetch a bucket in case he needed it. “Get some rest.”

“Stay with me,” he caught her hand in a clumsy hold, “I do not wish to be alone.”

It was such a strange request, and she faltered a moment. She was still dressed, her hair still done and all. There were still members of the court in the hall, and she could not rightly imagine what they would all think if she disappeared after her drunk husband.

“I am quite used to sleeping beside you, and now I can hardly manage it without you,” he murmured.

“I will stay with you until you fall asleep, but you mustn’t muss my hair,” she said, crawling carefully over him, trying not to catch her skirts under her knees.

“Oh, I shall!” Eomer laughed, nestling against her chest, “you are so very good to me, and I love you.”

She chuckled, shaking her head at him, “I would rather have all these sweet declarations when you are sober and of a mind to tell me so properly.”

“I shall do,” he promised, wallowing a bit as he crawled up to kiss her.

She looked at him, his reddened face and unfocused eyes, and knew that he would not remember any of this. She could say anything, and he would not remember it, or mock her the next morning. “I love you, Eomer.”

He grinned, shifting his weigh, chuckling to himself gleefully, “Do you?”

“Yes,” she admitted for the first time, and hoped that it would not be the last.

Eomer rocked a little back and forth, still grinning to himself. After a moment, he tried to sit up again, and failed, almost falling out of bed, saved only by Lothiriel’s arms around his waist, yanking him back with as much deadweight as she could muster. He crawled carefully on the bed, his hands reaching out to take her face. He meant to rest his brow against hers but misjudged the distance and bonked his head against hers. Panic snatched him, and he begged her pardon, “Are you alright?”

She laughed, rubbing her forehead, “Yes, but will you now go to sleep?”

“I had better,” he blushed, feeling rather foolish, clinging to her hand, and giving her the most pitiful look that she could remember ever having seen.

She tried not to laugh and shifted back, sitting against the headboard, and patted her lap for him to rest his head. He did so with great care, his hand following suit. His thumb stroked against the velvet of her dress, trying to calm himself and she combed her fingers through his hair and humming to him.

In the morning he felt as if he was dead, not able to remember much of anything let alone how he had gotten to bed. She did not tease him, fetching him bacon for his head, eggs for his stomach, and some white willow bark tea for the pain.

0x0x0

Lothiriel looked up from her work, “Leowella, have you ever told someone that you love them while intoxicated?”

“Of course,” Leowella said, confused by the question, and not know why it was asked, “Have you not?”

She had done, so she nodded, and dismissed the matter.

0x0x0

Eomer was not certain that what he had planned was fair, but he was curious and therefore should not have been judged too harshly for it. Having not been able to remember what he had said to her while he had been drunk, he was relieved that over the days after that, she did not seem embarrassed or ashamed of him.

He hated the loss of control that came with such drinking and had promised months before that he would never again drink so much as that. But then, he had made that vow quite a few times before.

They had gone to bed in their normal way, nestled together, and he felt rather certain that she liked his, though he was still a mite prickly over the easy way that she openly expressed and declared love for Caelon. It was the stupidest thing to feel jealousy over, but still he felt it, and had for a while now. He hated himself for that weakness. Their dog deserved every bit of affection given, but that part of his mind that was guided more by his heart than by logic wanted to know why she could not say that to him.

There were quick flashes of something more than respect or friendship when Lothiriel looked at him, and though he was still learning her expressions and reactions, he read in those quick moments a deep affection. If he was correct, and if she had been trying to seduce him, two things that he was not entirely certain of, then it would not be terribly wrong. He simply wanted to see what she would do.

He tilted her face up to him, looking over as much of her face as he could make out, feeling that tightening in his chest at the glint of her eyes in the dark. One of these nights he was going to leave a candle lit so that he could see her better.

Lothiriel’s fingers curled almost unperceptively against his chest, her heart hammering away, wondering if he was going to do more than kiss her. The idea of it alone sent a jolt of heat through her.

Eomer lowered his head carefully, kissing her lips with slow, measured movements. Those gentle caresses gained him response, her small body pressing against him almost tentatively. The arm he had wrapped around her tightened just a little as he turned into her, and her lips parted under his.

He tried not to smile at that and failed, pulling back a little to look at the shape of her face, his thumb tracing her cheek.

She tried to steady herself, tried not to pant or cling to him, and to infer her willingness as best she could, letting her hand wander up to his neck, anchoring herself. She hesitated a moment until she saw the shape of his head move back toward her and she leaned up to meet his kiss. The heat below her belly increased by fractions and she slipped a leg over his, nudging his hips closer to hers.

It wasn’t until his hands wandered and squeezed at her that she realized how desperately she had missed this. She had missed it in the abstract way of wondering why they had not been together, and in the way of daydreaming fantasy, but the reality of his touch, his slow and intentional touch had her melting against him. She murmured against his lips, before parting her own again.

Eomer felt her trembling under his hands, her skin feeling even warmer than before. He felt her legs clenching against his and ran his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, holding her firmly against him. He could hear the change in her breathing. Any doubt that he had felt over whether or not his lady wife enjoyed their coupling disappeared as her fingers curled against his side. But his curiosity was still piqued, and he wanted to see what she would do.

He pulled back suddenly, looked at her with a smile that she could not decipher, before whispering. “Good night, dearest.”

Lothiriel stared in confused horror as he lay back, adjusting the covers over his chest and closed his eyes. She could feel herself blinking hard, trying to understand what was happening. Time had slowed the moment his lips had touched hers it seemed, and she could not be sure how long they had been kissing, feeling as if it had been an hour at least.

She could never explain the madness that overtook her, but she moved gracelessly, straddling him and snatched his face in her hands, kissing him again, pressing and rubbing her sex against him a little roughly, trying to alleviate the wanting with some friction.

Eomer’s eyes snapped open, surprised at her actions, but was pleased by them. He had anticipated her whining or nudging him, perhaps pressing close against him, but this exceeded anything he had thought of. He grinned at her, watching as she fumbled with his breeches trying to remove them. He reached down, gently pushing her hands away and undid the laces, leaning up to kiss her again, all but grinning as her fingers caught the back of his neck. He kicked his breeches away and reached up to yank her nightgown over her head, tossing it aside. One of his hands reached up to her breast, his thumb sliding over a nipple, almost testing her flesh, and smiled to himself for a moment at the ghost of a sigh that left her lips.

If he had not decided to hand control entirely over to her, as she clearly had that right, he would spend more time refamiliarizing himself with her body. It occurred to him that he had not really done so before. He would in fact insist on leaving a candle lit next time, he decided, or else lay her out on the furs in front of the fire as he had imagined doing a few times now.

His thoughts were derailed by her hand on his cock, stroking experimentally as she chewed her lip a little uncertainly. She did not meet his eye but did smile a little at the groan he let out as he leaned, hiding brow against her shoulder.

The hand that was not occupied by her breast clung to her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Her hand stroked a little harder, and he shuddered, nipping her shoulder playfully. “Do not toy with me, wife, I beg you,” he growled as her hand tightened around him. He needed her, needed the relief of her.

“What do you want me to do?” Lothiriel asked, trying to fight the tremor in her voice and to sound confident and seductive.

“Take me, love,” he murmured against her ear, trying to soften his voice.

Lothiriel felt her face coloring at his direct request, but she obediently shifted herself, feeling a little awkward as she aligned them, trying to find the best way to go about fulfilling his request. She cursed her inhibitions for making it so difficult to meet her own fantasy. When she finally managed it, she felt a slight pressure as her sex stretched to accommodate him. She began to move, but his hand gripping her hip tightened.

He breathed a little heavily against her neck, trying not to spend at that first contact with the sweet, tightness of her cunny. It had been a while and he wanted to last, “Wait a moment...”

She had done everything to his liking thus far in their marriage, and she had received little enough of this satisfaction for all of her patience. The frustration of his words ran through her suddenly. It was a wicked thing to do, but she shoved him back by his shoulders, pinning him against the bed, smirking his quick intake of breath. Her fingers curled against his chest, nails grazing flesh as she began to move her hips, sliding herself on him.

She could not see his face, but she could hear him breathing and murmuring as she sped her movements up, and felt his hands clasping at her thighs in a death grip, his nails digging into her flesh.

Eomer stared up at Lothiriel, his mouth hanging open as she thrust and bucked, almost violently. He meant to tell her to slow, to tell her that he would not last, but every sensation wiped his concerns, and any other thought from his mind, rendering him little more than a boneless, mewling mess.

The hard pace hurt a little, but that pain mingled with a deep pleasure and it seemed as if it would only heighten that sweet release that seemed almost within her reach. It felt good, and wicked and she wanted more. He was rubbing against something deep inside of her that intensified everything that she was already feeling, and that added to her drive.

Her husband let out a strangled cry, his back arching up off the bed as a shudder seemed to go through him, and even as she heard it, she kept her pace until she felt him shrinking within her. She slowed finally, disappointed, and looked down at him, suddenly aware of how inappropriate her actions had been.

Rolling carefully away, she lay beside him, not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. “I am sorry,” she whispered after a moment.

“There is nothing to offer apologies for,” he said, a deep huskiness in his voice, “at least not on your part.”

She did not know what he meant. Seeing Eomer turning his head toward her from the corner of her eye, Lothiriel smiled at him, shyly.

Eomer reached over, wrapping her in his arms, and holding her close against him, and kissed the top of her head. She pulled the covers back up against the chill in the night air and hid her face against his shoulder, not wanting to think about her actions, and that she had liked them.

His hand pulled her face back to him, and he kissed her so tenderly she felt as if her heart would shatter from it. He rubbed his nose against hers, and she wondered if perhaps she was not some sinful beast after all.


	11. Chapter 11

As it became colder, it became imperative to keep the children in doors. It seemed that it was less common to have governesses, even in the noble families. It was seen as right that the mothers tend to their own children and mind them. Due to that, Lothiriel’s women had piece by piece requested that they be allowed to sit with them as they did their work.

What was Lothiriel meant to say? Should she tell them to lock their children away in their houses? She had been locked away as a child herself, and therefore did not think it right to allow anyone else to suffer such an isolated confinement. It also did not seem the sort of thing she could say and have her ladies think well of her for.

Though it should be said that she had forgotten how loud and rambunctious children were, and how chaotic. In general, they were sweet, and she did like them and their strangely direct manner, but the screaming was a problem. She felt for their mothers, she really did. Perhaps she would feel differently about it when she had children of her own.

Caelon had accepted this madness with a level of calm that Lothiriel had not expected, allowing some of the children to twist braids into his shaggy fur. He seemed content as long as they did not pull too hard on his fur, he had barked at one of the boys once, and that seemed to rectify the situation going forward.

She tried to focus on her work, and her gossiping, but every not and then one of the children would run over to her and demand her attention. In general, she accepted this, if only because he worried that if she voiced any disapproval that their mothers would have their little hides. Her one major concern was the books she kept in her solar. She lived with a constant fear that one of the children would damage them, as she had made the mistake of telling one of the quieter children that he was allowed to look at them, as he was trying to practice his reading. Her solution thus far was to put the more precious books above where they might reach.

Sometimes she would play with them, even though she knew should focus on her own work, and not allow herself to be distracted by their imaginations. When the first full snow came, Lothiriel felt a mixture of awe and despair. The winter had truly come, and she hated the biting cold but she was intrigued by the snow.

She scooped a little up and tasted it as one of the children pointed and laughed and his friend shoved him into a snow drift. By now, she had a hair handle of their names, but under their bundled clothing, she could not tell one child from the next.

“This is your first snow?” A cherub faced child asked around a loose tooth that signified her as Aeldswyth.

“Yes.”

Aeldswyth looked at the queen as if she was a pitiful simpleton who had clearly been kept in a cellar somewhere, “It is great fun unless your stockings get wet.”

A few of her other women were already engaged in some game, the sole purpose of which seemed to be pelting each other with the packed snow.

Lothiriel stooped, seeing on of the boys, Galdere, she thought, running at her with some snow, ready to hurl it at her in good fun. She scooped a handful of it and tossed it, feeling a little disappointed that it all but disappeared in the air as soon as if left her gloved hand, and the snowball hit her shoulder.

“You have to pack it!” he said, and Lothiriel realized that it was not Galdere, but Dernfred. She felt a little guilty that she still could not rightly tell one golden haired child from another.

“How?” Lothiriel asked, scooping up more snow, “Come show me.”

Derfred stooped next to her, making a snowball in his hands, and holding it up to her.

“My, you are quite good at that,” Lothiriel said, trying to replicate it, but not too well, “Like that?”

He set his own snowball down to prod a mittened finger at hers, “That looks good.”

“Alright, who should I throw it at?” Lothiriel asked, conspiratorially.

He pointed at his mother, Lady Godrith, with a wicked smile before ducking quickly to hide behind Lothiriel’s skirts.

She let the snowball fly, thus entangling herself in a massive war with no clear sides of alliances. You could trust no one in this battle, for even one that you were certain would stand by your side, would turn and hurl a snowball at you with no hesitation.

The cold hadn’t truly bothered her until she stopped at the sound of her husband’s voice behind her. Standing still after she had curtsied, Lothiriel realized that she was shivering a little.

“My lord,” she smiled.

“I was going to offer my services to your defense, but you look quite frozen through,” Eomer said, gently swatting some snow from her cloaked shoulder.

“I think I have this matter in hand. This insurrection must not be allowed,” she teased, and he brushed some of the snow from her hair.

“Very good. You must protect the honor of our family” he nodded, looking over the lot of women pretending not to eavesdrop, “Have you eaten?”

“I had not realized it was so late in the day as that,” Lothiriel said, “I have not.”

“Well, I have some free time and was going to eat,” he looked almost shy at asking her to eat with him. He watched as the women all made quite a show of respectability, collecting their children and dusting the snow from them or checking their temperatures to ensure they would not take ill. He smothered the urge to call out to them, the gossipy lot of them, “I would be honored if you might join me.”

“As you wish,” she smiled, taking his arm and beginning the walk to Meduseld and the promise of fire.

He pulled his arm free of her hold, wrapping it and his cloak around her, his other hand holding the front of her own cloak closed against the wind, “You seem to have been enjoying yourself, and I would feel guilt at taking you away if it did not seem that I have done right.”

Lothiriel shook her head, “I must bundle myself better next time. It is a lesson learned.”

Once in the hall, Eomer called from someone to bring some mulled wine to warm Her Grace. “I have had a fire laid in our rooms, so you might get out of these wet things,” he chuckled, taking her cloak from her shoulders and folding it over the warming rack at the hearth.

“You are too kind to me,” she beamed at him, trying to pull her gloves off and finding that her fingers were numb, and her toes too, come to think of it. She bit at the fingertips of her leather gloves to yank them off, unaware of the look Eomer gave her as she did it. She clenched her fingers as a burning, tingling sensation spread through them.

Eomer ushered her into her chair and stooped to help her out of her boots, “Your poor toes must be frozen,” he chucked for a moment before hurrying to fetch her a blanket. Her dress did not seem too wet, save for the hem. He snatched a few of the furs from the bed and wrapped her.

“Do you think this is sufficient?” she asked, her tone dry as she peered out of the cocoon of furs.

“No,” he smiled, “I will not have you catching a cold.”

“Someone ought to fetch Caelon,” she asked, after a moment, feeling as if she had failed their small family by not minding him, “He does not seem to like the cold much and stayed indoors.”

“He is clever in that way. He knows if he’s in the snow too long he’ll get a hot bath, and he hates that worse than the cold.”

“Then I should consider myself fortunate that you did not drop me in a tub of hot water?”

“I may yet,” he stooped, reaching under the furs to feel her feet. They were like ice in his hands, and for a moment he worried they would have to take her toes. It was a stupid thing to think of, but he worried about her. She had never experienced winter. The Mark was not even so far north on the continent, and he wondered how she would have hated it if she had made a marriage in Dale. “Do you feel that?” he asked, massaging her toes carefully.

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose they will not need to be amputated, then,” he said, still massaging her toes and the balls of her feet, trying to work the blood back into them.

She clucked at him, nestling back in her seat, “All the better, for the cost of having new shoes made would be quite a fiscal burden to place on your treasury.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Eomer called over his shoulder, not moving.

A serving girl, who Lothiriel thought was named Holdrith, brought a tray bearing a pitcher of hot mulled wine and two cups. She set them on the table between their two chairs, curtsied and left.

Lothiriel had been trying to learn the names of all of the servants, and thought that she was doing rather well, but she was learning so many names, and all of them Rohirric that she was aware that she might not be doing as well as she thought.

This was nice, she thought pouring herself some of the mulled wine, and she could get rather used to it. Perhaps she should risk frostbite more regularly.

“Would you like some?” Lothiriel asked, taking a drink.

He hummed an affirmation, one of his hands wandering over her ankle.

She filled the other cup and held it out to him and he looked a little startled by it before smiling and settling back on his heels and accepting the cup.

“You need warmer stockings,” Eomer said, standing slowly and going to sit.

Lothiriel reached behind her for the cushion, knowing the cold troubled his back and his knee. She could alleviate the pain in his back and was sure the wine would help his knee. “I have some made of wool, but they are in the laundry.”

Eomer leaned forward to set the pillow behind him, “Then you need more of them,” he smirked into his cup.

“You should take care, or you will certainly spoil me.”

“That is, I believe, what wives are for.”

In the last few day, things had been different between them. He had always been kind, and attentive, sometimes overly so, but there was something else that she could not think how to describe. There was a different sort of warmth now between them. Though she still struggled to convince herself that she was not some damned beast of a wife, as Eomer did not seem to find her so, she found that she could not complain of the change.

He had resumed his interest in the intimate part of their marriage and seemed to be in an ever more improved mood. Was that of her making? A few of the ladies had made thinly veiled allusions to it being so, but she was not ready to take that credit.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, setting his cup down and reaching over to check her temperature, to ensure himself that she was not taking a fever.

“Yes, my lord,” she smiled, leaning into his hand. She liked his hands.

“That is good, for if you were not, I would need to find some other way to warm you,” he smiled at her wolfishly.

“And how would you think to do that?” she asked, biting her lip.

“I would find more wood for the fire, and move you nearer, of course,” he said in false surprise, “Why, whatever did you think I meant?”

She could not think of a decent response and burrowed deeper into the furs.

“My lady!” he laughed through him best impressing of appalled horror, “I would not have ever imagined that your mind would be as filthy as that!”

“Oh, hush,” she scoffed.

“I do not know how I am meant to live with such a woman.”

She knew he was teasing her, but it was something she feared. “If you do not want me to think such things, then you should be clearer in your words, rather than leaving them so open to interpretation.”

Eomer was on the point of responding, but their lunch was brought and set out, Mistress Gredda directed the serving girls, doing her best not to laugh at the sight of their queen wrapped up as if she would die from the cold if not so covered.

When they were alone again, Eomer went to fetch her a plate.

“I can walk you know,” she called after him, smiling at the eager way he was trying to fix her plate, “That is far too much food! I am watching my figure,” she added hastily.

“As am I,” Eomer smirked, handing her the plate and a napkin, “you need to eat more.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “Anything I do not eat I will give you.”

“You say that as a threat, my lady wife, but I will have you know that I am always hungry, and will gladly take your table scraps,” he stooped and kissed her brow.

“Do you have much time?” she asked, as they ate, wanting to spend more time with him, and extend this sweet, warm moment.

“I have no other plans,” Eomer smiled, “Do you need to return to your women?”

“I think they can mind themselves,” she replied.

Eomer grinned, “Then I will need to find some way to entertain you.” He had a few ideas but decided not to push any of them at present.

Once the table was cleared, they sat together, playing cards. After a few hands, another idea came to him. They had not been betting anything and had been playing only for the fun of it.

“May I suggest stakes?” Eomer asked.

“You may suggest them, if I may reject them,” Lothiriel replied, shuffling the deck of cards.

“The winner of the next hand might make a request, or ask a question and the loser must submit?” Eomer smiled watching her consider it.

She tried to think of how she should respond to any such thing if it was beyond what she felt comfortable with, “Alright.” She dealt the hands, wanting to win. What would she even ask of him? She had quite a few questions, but if she asked them, he would be honor-bound to answer, she might not like what he said.

She wanted to know who his mistress was, for Leowella’s words still resonated in her, even though her friend had begged her to forget them. It made sense. Men had uncontrollable urges, and if he had not been fulfilling those urges with her, then he would need someone else to do so. But he had been taking his marital rights from her, and she wondered if there was some lady, unknown to her, that was heartbroken over it.

Eomer let her win the first hand, curious as to what she would demand as her prize. “Ask anything of me. It is your right.”

“Are you truly jealous of Caelon?” she asked, surprising herself by the question.

His face fell for a moment, “Who told you that I was?” He was going to thrash Eothain if he’d gone about telling people this.

“You did, my dear husband” she smirked, taking a drink, and hiding her face in the cup, trying not to laugh at the perplexed and vexed look on his face.

He blushed to his ears, trying to remember having that conversation. It must had been that night that he could not remember. What else had he said? Was she going to hold it over his head for the whole of their marriage? He did not think that she would do so with a malicious intention, but more the teasing way that she did it now.

“I…” he tried to think of how to explain it without sounding like an idiot.

“Oh, go on and tell me,” she giggled.

It was such a stupid thing, such a stupid feeling that had no true basis, and he could not explain it without sounding like he was a whining child, “I would not say that I am in truth, it is more that he is able to spend as much time in your company.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” he lied.

She shuffled the deck again shaking her head, “I should think that if you spent as much time with me as that you would tire of me.”

“I do not think so,” Eomer said, “we get along well. I like spending time with you.”

Lothiriel smiled, dealing again, “I like spending time with you, too.”

The next few hands increased the ante of the stakes, as the questions and requests became more absurd. Eomer wanted to take his vengeance for her question, but did not want to go for the throat, so to speak, so quickly. His first victory resulted in Lothiriel having to sing a bawdy song, her face reddening with each verse. She retaliated with forcing him to attempt a handstand, which he managed for a moment before almost falling flat on his face. He blamed the wine, and she pretended to believe him, laughing and kissing his cheek. He learned that she could wiggle her nose like a bunny, and she learned that he believed in ghosts, having sworn that he had seen one as a child, and that he lived in fear of seeing one in Meduseld.

“The dead only come back if their work is unfinished, or if they are victims of some curse,” Lothiriel assured him.

“That is not true,” Eomer said, “Sometimes people just stay.”

“Why should they do that?”

“How should I know?” he scoffed, “I am still very much alive, in spite of attempts made by enemies.”

The game was more fun than she had expected and thought that perhaps they should play more often. It was not until he actually made a request of her that she realized that he had not done so yet.

He looked at her a little nervously, “I would have you take off your dress.”

Lothiriel stared at him, “Why?”

“I have never seen you.”

“You have,” she said, scooping the cards up, meaning to shuffle them and tell him to ask for something less ridiculous.

“No, it has ever been dark,” Eomer protested, watching her. He had stolen glimpses of her and felt shameful for it. He had never seen more of her than those glimpses, either stolen or what little the fire in their bedchamber has illuminated. Even when he had helped her dress, she had kept her shift carefully on.

Lothiriel stood slowly, “You need to help me with the ties,” she said, trying to sound as if she was not nervous. She should not be so frightened of her husband seeing her. It was a silly thing, but she was nervous.

He undid the laces at the back of her dress, and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, trying to temper his excitement.

The dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She pulled her shift over her head before facing him, a look of almost of challenge on her face. She had tried to trim down her shape, but it had little effect. She turned to him, preparing herself for his ridicule, for his disappointment. But he was looking at her with something like appreciation. It was strange, and it made her blush all the harder.

He looked up at her for a moment before running a hand over her hip, smiling to himself.

“Is this revenge for asking about your jealousy?” she asked, trying to compose herself.

He chuckled, “Do you think that I must be vindictive to want to see your body?”

She shrugged before she caught herself, “I am not entirely comfortable with being unclothed.”

“Why?” Eomer asked, “I would not want you to run through the city in this state, but you have a beautiful figure, dear, and you ought not feel the need to hide it.”

Lothiriel checked herself from rolling her eyes at him, and his compliments, but her disbelief was clear on her face.

“You do,” he chuckled, pulling her a little closer, pinching her thigh teasingly.

“I am pleased you find me so.” If he was telling the truth, and it seemed that he was, then… she could not decide what that should mean. It was of course right that she should be pleasing to her husband, but she still felt her spirit squirming a little under his inspection.

“Come here,” he whispered, taking her hand and tugging her closer.

She obliged, a little shyly, thinking that she recognized that look, “Eomer…”

He pulled her into his lap, nestling his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her skin.

Lothiriel squirmed a little, trying not to giggle as his beard pricked against her neck. She should have been used to it by now, but there was a playfulness about him right now, and she liked it. She almost forgot that she was naked, in full view, and sitting in his lap.

He glanced at her with a hopeful look, and she wondered if he always looked at her that way before. She chewed her lip and smiled as he pulled her lip free with his thumb. There was a heat slowly coming into that look, and she rather liked it.

She leaned over and kissed him, squealing a little as he scooped her up and laid her out on the furs and carpets before the hearth, “Eomer, dear…”

“Hm?” he murmured, planting kisses along her collarbone.

Giggling, she tried to push him away, but found that he was stronger than her, and he caught her wrists gently in his hands, pinning them by her shoulders.

“Yes, darling?” he asked, mildly, a slow grin slipping across his face, almost daring her to tell him that they should not be doing this, but she blushed and said nothing further.

She shifted a little under him, suggestively before pulling her wrists free to undo his belt and pull his tunic and shirt over his head. He crouched back a moment, unlacing his trousers and looking at her again. Then he leaned back down to kiss her, nipping at her lips teasingly and kicking the offending article of clothing away.

It was a vulnerable position being seen, but she did not mind it as much as she should have, she realized. She could see him, too, and he did not seem as concerned by it.

There were so many things he wanted to teach her, and that he wanted to show her, but there would be time enough for that. At present, he wanted to pet her and show her how adored she was.

His lips trailed over her flesh, pressing slow kisses over her chest, down over her stomach and to her hips. Glancing up at her, and finding her looking back at him with anticipation, biting her lip, he smiled and bit the softest part of her hip.

Lothiriel leapt a little, and moved to scamper away from him, a grin on her face. She was stopped by his hand as it caught under her knee, pulling her back under him.

An idea formed itself in her mind, and she wondered what he would do if she did get free of him. Would he chase her?

The beginning of a plan melted away when he kissed her again, his fingers tracing over her inner thigh as she shifted to make room for him. He had not touched her there the last few times, and she had not been able to find a way to ask him to, any more than she had been able to find a way to tell him that she wanted him. 

She ran her hand over his chest and an arm with interest, feeling the muscles tensing a little under her fingers. There were scars littered over his skin, and she had never noticed them. She traced a scar on his shoulder, studying it and forgetting what they were doing. When she remembered herself, she looked at him quickly, embarrassed, but found him watching her without any judgement. Her smoothed her hand over his arm, leaning up to kiss him.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he came into her, cupping her face in his hand, and pressing his brow to hers.

It was different, seeing him, and the way that he was looking at her made it so. His dark eyes moved over her face before looking into hers and holding that gaze. As she looked at him, she faltered, laying still for a moment, and just looking at him. It was as if he saw some precious thing, and she could not stop her heart from twisting in her chest. She traced her fingertips over his cheek again as they began to move together.

They kissed against and again until their lips were swollen. Eomer pressed his face into the crook of her neck for a moment, breathing her scent, and trying to compose himself and to last. He let out a shallow breath and took a moment before looking at Lothiriel’s face again. That face was twisted up, her head thrown back as she cried out, her quim tightening around him. He pressed his face back into her shoulder, biting her gently as he felt himself tip into ecstasy.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, though Eomer did shift an arm to support his weight, having enough sense not to crush her. Lothiriel combed her fingers through his hair, nuzzling against the top of his head, and giggling a little when he looked at her.

He rested his chin on her chest, beaming at her and her grinning face, beginning to shift away from her, but was stopped by her hands on his arms, and the silent request in her silver eyes, to stay just a little longer.

When she finally released him, Eomer lay beside her, feeling content and warm. He bent an elbow to hold himself up and look at her flushed face. That he had never seen her glowing this way felt like a sort of thievery. Stroking her cheek, he felt himself smiling as he drank her in.

She stared back at him, a small, self-conscious laugh leaving her, “What is it?”

He shook his head a little, “I feel fortunate to have you as my wife.”

She cut her gaze away from him after a moment, nervously, “I have certainly endeavored to do well.” She knew that she should get up, that they should dress, but she did not feel as uncomfortable as she ought to have. What would they do if someone were to come into the room? How would they explain themselves?

“I find it hard to imagine how I managed without you,” he admitted, watching her roll toward him, and he ran his hand over her back, tracing patterns with his fingers.

“I am certain you did perfectly well. You seem rather self-sufficient.”

“Perhaps, but I admit that it was a far more solitary existence.”

Her brow furrowed a little, “I would have thought that you might have preferred it that way.” She doubted that he ever wanted for female company, but it was nice of him to say otherwise.

There was a quick sense of unease in him, “In a way, though I was of a mind once to protect myself from the disdain of others,” he looked over her face again, “Do you miss your friends in Gondor?”

“In truth,” she hesitated, “I had only fair-weather companions. There were none among them that would stand by me in constancy. I doubt that anyone that I left behind misses me at all, but to say that they were once a friend of the Queen of the Riddermark.” It sounded so terribly depressing, and she saw his face clouding over at her words, “And all the better for it, as I have left them behind, I will hardly miss them.”

“They did not know what they had in you, then,” Eomer said with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“A foolish girl?” she asked with a chuckle, rolling onto her back.

“Do you ever seek to appease others and supplant your own worth?”

The question stung, only for the rightness of it, “We all must take our shortcomings in the ways that we can.”

“And what do you think yours are?” His brow darkened a little, trying to make sense of her words.

Staring up at the ceiling, she thought for a moment, “In my life, people have decided to leave me when I am not useful to them.”

He turned her face with his fingertips, making her look at him, her words and their meaning sinking in, “I know that fear, and you have my word that I will not leave you.” A tear ran down her cheek and he brushed it away, “I will never abandon you, love.”

She sniffed, smiling “Forgive me, I am being silly. I have no idea what came over me.”

“I would not have you hide your feelings from me,” it felt strange to need to say it, but if she had thought that her worth came from her ability to serve the needs of others, then did she not expect to be loved for anything more than that?

She searched his eyes, not knowing what to say. She believed him, deep in her bones, and she stroked his cheek. He liked her, and cared for her, and perhaps he might come to love her. It was not something that she had ever thought possible, that she would have a loving marriage, but she had never expected to marry someone that would care for her so much as he seemed to.

“I would not have you hide anything,” he reassured her, stroking her hair and her back.

Lothiriel leaned forward and kissed his lips, a gently given caress that he leaned into, resting his brow on hers again. She loved her husband, and she thought that she might do well to tell him so, but what if he only considered her a friend. He would consider her a very dear friend, she knew, and that was something, but it was that he might not feel as she did that stopped her short, even as he wrapped his arm around her and held her to him.

0x0x0

Imrahil turned the letter from his daughter, hesitating a moment before he broke the seal and read it, sipping his coffee.

It was as bland and brief as the rest of her letters thus far had been:

_My Lord Father,_

_You will, no doubt, be pleased to hear that I am adapting well to the way of life here in the Riddermark and seem to be by and large a success so far. I have managed to make a few friends and to surround myself with ladies of the highest esteem and virtue, and we occupy ourselves by attending to our womanly duties, needlework and the like._

_My only complaint that I am rightly able to give is that there is that the weather has turned rather cold and being unused to it had found it necessary to supplement my wardrobe with warmer things. My Lord Eomer has bought me many fine pieces of clothing for this charge._

_My Lord Husband remains a steadfast comfort, and the kindest of men. He dotes on me endlessly, and I have found my marriage to be quite agreeable. I hope to be worthy of such dedication and to be able to return such tender affections._

_In answer to your inquiry, I have regretfully not yet produced an heir, but The Valar willing, I am sure I will in time._

_With Sincerity, Your Daughter,_

_Lothiriel Queen of the Riddermark._

He hoped that she was as happy as she seemed to want to imply that she was, for she had yet to outright express any joy, or anything really beyond a calm sort of almost resignation. He wished he was of a greater confidence to his youngest child.

She seemed to write to Erchirion as well, and he wondered if she wrote anything more to him. Perhaps he had been rather hasty in making the match for Lothiriel, but he could not imagine a better one for her.

Eomer King had approached him to ask to court Lothiriel with the same timid nervousness of a boy, and it had been so completely out of character for the bold man that Imrahil had snatched the opportunity.

He had not been in close confidence with his daughter for years and had meant to repair their relationship before her wedding and had at least gotten to the point where she would speak a little more openly to him. It was a desire that seemed unfulfilled, and now she lived so far away, that It might never be achieved.

He hoped that she was happy in her marriage, and that he had not made some mistake in arranging her marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this sweet chapter. This was so fun to write, but I feel obligated to warn you all that this story is going to take a quick turn to angsty. I should have a new chapter up soon. 
> 
> As always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright all, as I mentioned in a note at the end of the last chapter, we're taking a turn here. So prepare your self for some seriously contrived fanfiction angst, because these two idiots can't communicate very well when emotional, or in general.  
> Fair warning: This is going to be rough, and I am super nervous. Please don't break out the pitchforks for me.

One of the younger lords stood, raising his cup a little sheepishly, nervous about his toast even in his clearly tipsy state, clearing his voice, “A toast to Lothiriel Queen, a more lovely Queen there has never been.”

Lothiriel smiled politely, knowing it was not in the least bit true. High Queen Arwen was far lovelier, and she remembered that her own husband had almost fought Lord Gimli to make the point and defend that honor for her.

The hall echoed with calls of toasting as cups were raised.

Lothiriel blushed a little but raised her cup in thanks to the young fellow as he blushed to his ears. Eomer smirked, narrowing his eyes a little, “Careful there, boy.” He replied in jest, and the court laughed at the unspoken threat as Eomer established his right as the only man that should be so complimenting Lothiriel. He had never considered himself a jealous man, and he certainly trusted Lothiriel not to stray from him, but he was not blind to the way that some of the men of the court looked at her, as if she was an exotic bird that they envied and wanted to study.

“Be nice,” she scolded, pinching Eomer’s arm lightly.

He was certainly not concerned about Roxbrunde in that way, though, as he was a sweet young man who was a little too eager to please but was by and large harmless. He reminded Eomer too much of an overexcited puppy to be seen as anything else.

“Yes, dear,” Eomer said in mockery of the assumption that he had been henpecked, as a few of his intimates had made such jokes at his expense. He hadn’t been henpecked, and found the notion absurd. He simply respected his wife and her opinions, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“You had best watch yourself, Lord Roxbrunde,” Lord Almod teased, pressing the young man’s shoulder, “Or else his grace might think you admired his lady too well, and who knows what he might do if he takes such a thought.”

The onslaught of teasing fell on his young head and he looked rather as if he wanted to give up his title and courtly life to become a hermit

Lothiriel wanted to roll her eyes at the strange form of bonding that seemed common here. She looked at Eomer as if to say, “see what you have done.”

Eomer shrugged and kissed her hand, trying not to laugh at her irritation, and the fact that the look did not waver. He took a breath, "I will speak nicely to him later, and in the sight of all so that there will be no harassment of him going forth. Will that satisfy you?"

"I suppose," she smirked looking rather pleased with herself.

Over the last few weeks since they had resumed their lovemaking, Eomer had tried to remember ever feeling a happy as he did now. He doted on her, and worried sometimes that he was smothering her. She never said so, but sometimes he would see a look quickly checked and would take that sign that she needed some time alone. She always came back to him after those few hours, and had begun to publicly take his arm, or his hand, and he would feel the quick jolt in his stomach at the gesture.

He was certain that Lothiriel loved him as much as he loved her, and he realized again how fortunate he was in his match. He adored his wife and had become more and more certain that she shared his feelings, though she had not said that she loved him, but she was so much bolder with him than she had been before, and there was the way that she looked at him sometimes.

There was nothing in that lack of verbal affirmation should cause concern, and he had assured her so, knowing that there were times where he did not want to be around people either. It made it all the sweeter when she took his arm or nestled beside him because he knew that she acted out of her own will.

He wished they were not so often in the view of the public. When they were alone and she did not feel the need to appear perfect, she was the woman that he loved. That was not to say that he did not love her when she was queenly, but there was a bright easiness in her. She had become comfortable enough with him to tease him and scold him.

They had not quite had a row, but they had come close a few times, and he had learned that if Lothiriel became quiet and stared at him with a raised brow, she did not agree with whatever it was he was planning to do. He had never taken well to being told what to do, but he did not quite mind it because Lothiriel never told him directly how he ought to act so much as silent infer her displeasure.

He found himself wondering what her raised voice sounded like, and he was rather concerned over what would happen when she did finally lose her temper. In a way that he would not be able to rightly explain, he was rather intrigued to see it.

0x0x0

That fondness grew all the more over the next few days, and Eomer wondered if there would come a point where his heart overflowed itself.

Lothiriel had left the hall a little early with a headache and had gone to lie down. She had left with a graceful curtsy, and a weary look, and Eomer had told her that he would send some tea to help with the pain and had sent it at once.

He hated sitting at table without her and hated the obligatory mingling of court all the more. They had come to a way of recognizing discomfort in each other and Lothiriel would come to his rescue whenever he wished to be removed from a tiresome conversation. She saved him far more often that he saved her, but she seemed perfectly at home in court. She knew how to speak to people and to make a graceful escape if needed.

When he came into their room that night, when he saw her, sleeping in their bed, with a cloth over her eyes and brow, the cup sat empty on the side table, he smiled a little. He wished she did not get such pains, but she at least seemed at peace for the moment.

“Thiriel,” he whispered his pet name for her to see if she was awake. She did not move, and he went to kiss her cheek, and begin to undress. There was a warm and tender feeling in his chest as he looked at her. He climbed into bed, but let her sleep, not wanting to risk her fury if he roused her.

There was something he was forgetting, and it was made all the worse because he could not remember what it was. He hated these moments when they came. Perhaps he should begin writing lists of everything he was meant to be doing.

It came to him in a flash. There had been an issue with the tax collections from the Norcrofts, and he was meant to write to the lords there for clarification on the matter if it had been an error and put the fear of his reign to them if it was not. He was not able to sleep, anyway, so he should take advantage of his wakefulness to fulfill his forgotten obligation.

He looked over his wife, still sleeping and peaceful as he pulled his robe on. He could almost imagine her waking and coming to collect him with drowsy irritability at his not being in bed. It was a hard thing to think of as an actual probability, as she hated getting herself out of bed. She slept through his snoring, even.

He lit a candle and went to his study, seeing a figure in the hall, and finding it odd, but deciding it was likely a servant who had forgotten some charge, the same as he had, and dismissed the concern from his mind.

Letter writing was the bane of his very existence and having convinced himself that the person in the hall was not his concern, he began the long arduous struggle of composing a stern but respectful letter.

He made quick work of stoking a small fire to combat the chill in the study and lit a few more candles before taking out a sheet of parchment to start the letter, or at least jot down his notes of what he wanted to say before those thoughts moved past his reach.

The knock at the door did not even pull his eyes from his writing, “Enter.” He called lightly, assuming it was Lothiriel come to tell him off after all, for no other member of the court should be in the hall at this hour, “I know, dear, I know. I just need to write somethings down while I remember to.”

“Take your time,” Leowella purred.

That pulled his attention, and he stared at her, “What…?”

She shrugged her cloak clumsily off, and stood there in a thin shift, bold as anything, smirking at him.

For a moment, Eomer could not quite process what was happening. It did not feel as if it was real, somehow, probably because it was not possible.

“My lord?” Leowella asked, approaching him with a look that he remembered well.

He almost tripped getting out of his chair, roaring at her, “No, you need to leave. Now.”

“Eomer,” she almost whined after the shock of his raised voice had worn off, watching him running to pick her cloak up from where she had discarded it. She recomposed herself, her fingers working at the ties of her shift, undoing them, and letting the shoulders of the garment slip down her arm, making her offer clearer.

Eomer stared at her for a moment, watching the smooth skin of her shoulders come into view. Leowella was beautiful, all limberness and impish features, and creamy skin. For a moment, he thought nothing of the fact that he was looking at her exposed breasts, or that some small, treacherous part of his mind whispered that no one would ever know.

Lothiriel was snuggled up, nice and warm, sleeping in their bed, and would never know if he took what Leowella offered. He would not need to so control himself, and that alone was the greatest temptation. His wife was so young, and so delicate and he feared hurting her, but he knew Leowella, and knew what she liked, and gentleness was not among her preferences. If he pinned her against the door and took her, she would never tell, he was certain of that.

But he would live with the shame of it for the rest of his days. Every time he looked at Lothiriel, he would think about it. Every time she took his arm and gave him that gentle look that quietly urged him to retire with her, he would remember this.

Nothing that Leowella could give him was worth damaging his relationship with his wife, and he cast that shard of temptation aside.

“You need to dress yourself, and leave,” Eomer said white knuckling her cloak, trying to get it back on her, frustrated as Leowella spun under his arm, giggling. He chased after her, the cloak held open like a net to catch her, meaning to wrap her up and shove her out into the corridor where she could sort herself out, and would not be his problem. Was this some test set before him to tempt him to breaking his vows? He considered chucking the cloak at her and bolting back to his bed, but that could backfire.

“Lothiriel tells me all,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at him, “I did not want to hope that it might be true, but here you are.”

He froze, “What did she tell you?”

She stared up at him, “There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” she pressed closer to him for a moment before shifting from one foot to the other as if she was reminding him of some unfortunate news, and he could smell the mead, heavy on her breath and lingering in the air as she moved, “it would not be the first time-”

“This is not appropriate,” Eomer cut her off, trying to get her cloak back on her shoulders, but she squirmed out of the way again. “I am married, and… Wella, we cannot do that anymore.”

“But you have not been with her,” Leowella said, stopping her dancing steps and staring at him.

When had Lothiriel said that? And why had she spoken to Leowella about this, rather than speaking to him? He knew that women would speak of such things together, and had no qualms about that, but that she had not told him whatever she had told Leowella bothered him, “This matter is not your concern,” he said, finally getting her covered, and bundling her firmly up, not meeting her eye.

“But in the past, you always came back to me in these times,” her voice was so small and hopeless suddenly as if she could not understand what he was saying to her, “I have always been here for you, Eomer.”

It had never occurred to him that Leowella had not understood the nature of their friendship. They were friends. But she stared at him as if he had struck her. Was that why she had never married, then?

“Leowella,” he said as gently as he could while still making his point firmly clear to her, his hands clasping her shoulders, “You are a wonderful woman, and you deserve all the happiness in the world, but I love my wife,” he needed her to understand that, so that she would leave and do so quietly. If there was gossip about this, Lothiriel would have his head.

“But I love you,” she said.

Damn it all, why was this happening now? Now, when everything was going so well with Lothiriel.

It would never have been acceptable, even if things hadn’t been going well. But Leowella pressed against him, and he remembered for a moment how much he had enjoyed the times that they had been together. It had been so simple. At least it had been to him.

Leowella squirmed her arms free, wrapping them around his neck and pressed against his chest and his hands, shaking just a little.

For the first time, he considered the benefits of nightclothes, as his bare chest felt every inch of her exposed skin pressing against his. She had not righted her shift and if he was a weaker man he would have bent to his baser desires. Those desires were there, pressing at the back of his mind, but he would not act on them, no matter what she thought or did. He was grown man and he was in full control of himself.

“I am sorry for any pain I have caused you,” Eomer said in a low voice, gently trying to push her back from him, and move her to the door, “but this can never happen again.”

Tears streamed down Leowella’s cheeks at his words as she listened to him.

Eomer grimaced, feeling like a cad, but wanting her gone. He clasped her face in his hands, drying her cheeks, “I will always have a fondness for you, but that fondness is the sort that I would give any friend. I cannot offer you more than that.”

0x0x0

Lothiriel stretched out in the bed and felt the absence of her husband. She peered carefully, trying to open her eyes. It was still dark. Had he not come to bed yet?

She sat up slowly, looking around the room.

The fire had been tended, so he had come into the room, at least, but he was not here. It seemed so late that he needed to have come to bed by now.

Pulling her robe on, she found that her headache had abated at least.

Things had progressed between them, and she did not hold the same concerns that she had. The thoughts of other women had all but been forgotten. She wanted to tell him what she felt but held back only because he had not expressed anything of the sort. There was a tenderness in him, and had always been, but it felt changed somehow.

In her half sleeping state, she looked through the other rooms, and found no sign of him. Perhaps he had gone to finish some work, then.

The hall was cold, dark and empty, and she hugged her robe tighter around her, trying not to shiver. Perhaps she would cuddle up with him in his seat at his desk and help him with whatever it was that he was working on, or else coax him back to bed.

She opened the door and stood frozen in place, her smile falling away as she saw them. She watched her closest friend wrap her arms around Eomer’s neck, the ties at the front of her shift undone and her… endowments out and she was pressing so close to Eomer, staring at him. He was holding her face in his hands, and though she could not quite see his face, she knew that touch well enough to guess.

She had not meant to gasp, but she did, and immediately regretted it as they both turned to look at her. There was no way for her to pretend that she had not seen them now.

She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure as she averted her eyes, dropping them to the floor, “I beg your pardon, my lord. I had not realized that you were entertaining.” She curtsied quickly and closed the door, and ran back to their rooms. Distantly, she could hear Eomer calling after her.

The door flew open loudly behind her and Lothiriel slowed her steps on the stairs, not wanting to look like a child or a thief in her running, and trying to compose herself. She opened the room to their chambers and ducked inside quickly, needing to be in her own rooms. She needed to calm herself and remember her purpose.

Once she was in her room, she could sort her thoughts out, even if she could hear Eomer tearing after her.

He closed the door to their rooms and bolted it, not wanting Leowella to follow after them in her drunk and addled state. Lothiriel looked at him, her face blank before she turned away again. “Lothiriel!” Eomer begged, grasping at her and forcing her to turn and look at him, “That was not as it seems, I swear to you!”

She squirmed free, trying to hide the pain that she felt.

She felt like the greatest fool in all of creation, and she felt as if the floor was sliding under her feet, tilting her into the pit of her own thoughts, Hadn’t she known this would happen? Hadn’t she prepared herself for this eventuality? Her husband was a king, and as such, it was right that he should do as he wished. Now, she thought back and wondered if Leowella had been trying to warn her. How long had that been going on? Had it ever stopped? They looked perfectly comfortable together, so, likely not. How many times had she slept peacefully as he snuck from their bed? 

Why had she let herself love him? Why had she let her heart be so seduced? She bid her mind to stop it's spiraling, bid her mind to stop proposing instances that only sunk her deeper.

“I did not ask her to meet with me, Lothiriel,” he said, wondering what Leowella had even been doing in the hall in the first place, and wanting to ask Lothiriel to consider how strange it all seemed.

She turned from him, pouring herself from water, and forcing herself to smile before facing him, “My lord, there is no need to explain. I understand.”

He doubted that she did, but this calm reaction perturbed him, “Do you?”

How had she ever imagined that she would be enough for him? “Of course,” she smiled, feeling the knife twist in her chest, “and I appreciate your careful discretion.”

Eomer stared at her, trying to find the words that would make her laugh with him about what had happened. It had been so terribly awkward and bizarre, and he had been tempted, but had not faltered. He just wanted her to hold him and tell him that she understood and have her actually understand.

She wanted him to be happy, needed him to be, that was her charge as his wife. She did not need to cause a scene or some diplomatic incident by losing her temper. Besides, throwing a tantrum could hardly help anything. “Though I have suspected this for some time, I am pleased at least you have found favor in such a worthy lady.”

Leowella was everything that she was not. She was slim, but curved in the right ways, and poised and confident, how could a man not like her? He would not need to pretend to find Leowella’s figure appealing, and Lothiriel felt all the more a fool for believing that he could have ever thought her lovely. How could he have?

"Lothiriel...”

Whatever lie he was going to tell her she could not listen to it just now, and there was no reason for him to give it, but that he believed she should prefer to hear that he had not been in that lady’s arms. She could not bear to hear him try to explain himself, to try to soothe her, for that would mean that he pitied her.

She held a hand up, forcing her smile wider, “My lord husband, whatever arrangements you deem appropriate, I will of course accept. I do not wish to cause you any trouble.”

If he could not have her hear him and understand, then he wanted her to scream at him, he wanted her to call him out, or beat her fists against his chest. Would she not fight for him at all? Was this her way, to roll over and show her belly at any encroachment on what was hers? No, she had fought and made compromises that benefitted her. He had seen her do it.

The realization of what that meant choked him. She did not care what he did, if he meant to have other women she would smile and pretend that nothing was happening, because she did not care for him in the least. Did she find such an arrangement preferable to sharing his bed?

“I know my duty, and I am honored to do it, my lord,” Lothiriel said, wanting to run back and snatch Leowella by her golden hair and drag her down the steps, and claim each bruise and scrape as a thing done in the name of her honor. That was not the way that a queen comported herself. She must face all things with grace and dignity, even the breaking of her own heart.

Eomer felt his chest heaving at her dainty words and her bland smile. Was that truly how she imagined their marriage would be? That he would sneak around behind her back, and had been doing so far? Did she really think that little of him?

He took a breath, trying to check himself before he made this worse, “I will sleep in my study, and we will speak in the morning.”

“Yes, my lord, you oughtn’t leave a lady waiting,” she demurred, dipping gracefully as he left her, going back to his own amusements. She went through to their bedroom, and closed the door, firmly not wanting anyone to hear her. She scrambled over to the bed and picked up her pillow, pressing it over her face to muffle her screaming sobs, needing to release the anguish that had coiled itself so tightly around her heart that she felt as if it would never release.

A queen did not cry, or show distress, and if anyone heard her, they would think her a silly, spoiled girl. They would think her exactly what she was.

0x0x0

Leowella stared at him, pale and terrified, “Eomer… my lord, I…”

He glared at her, having hoped that she would have made herself scarce after Lothiriel had seen her. He wanted to break something, throw something, shatter the whole world and never let peace and contentment that he had found come to anyone else.

Pouring himself some whiskey, he seethed, not even looking at the woman, or hearing her apologies and whatever else it was that she was saying.

Dropping into a seat by the fire, he glared at the flames, as if the fire was the one at fault for this. “Leowella,” he growled, “Get out or I will have the guards remove you.”

He had opened himself up to her, and had misplaced his trust, giving it to a woman that did not love him, or appreciate how vulnerable he had made himself. He had so believed that she cared for him, and though she had never said that she loved him, he had thought that he had seen it in her eyes, countless times. When they had lain together in front of the fire, there had been a look in her so tender that he had almost felt renewed in some way, as if she saw him for himself.

It could simply had been the shock of it all, but she seemed so composed, and had thought that he had been bedding other women the entire time they had been married? She believed him so dishonorable, so callous and unfeeling that he would cast her aside? Perhaps he would have done better to do so.

He should have kept his defenses up, rather than believing that her consent to marry him had meant something, that she might have liked him.

What had Leowella been doing in the hall? That piece of this painful puzzle still stuck out and he could not force it to fit.

He would speak to the guards in the morning, and demand to know why they were not at their posts. Was this some common occurrence, that people could just walk into the hall, for reasons entirely unknown but by them? The thought that Leowella had been coming into his house without a problem terrified him, if he was to be honest about it. He had never lived with a fear of people coming into the hall when he slept, having assumed that the guards would do their job.

He had not asked her what her purpose had been, and wondered if she had been lying in wait, like a predator waiting for some meat to cross its path. How many times had she tarried there, waiting for some sign of him? Had she been led on by Lothiriel’s assurances that there was nothing between them?

Had she truly said such things? There had to be some misunderstanding, something said wrong, but each time he made some excuse, her composed face came back to him.

His heart pounded and he wanted no more of either of them. He hated himself for the pain of it all, for being so weak as to not take this all with a shake of his head.

In the morning he would try to explain himself and the mistake of not calling for the guards. He had only not done so because he had not known who was on duty, and had not wanted anyone speaking of this matter, and taking the wrong idea to his wife.

There was no risk of that now, as Lothiriel knew, and had encouraged him to come back to his alleged mistress and carry on as if she did not exist. He should have stayed, he should have shouted at her until she heard him, but he had been so careful never to lose his temper in front of her, a feat that he had not always succeeded in.

He should have held her in place and made her understand, told her that he loved her, that he wanted no one else, but that face staring back at him, assuring him that she knew what he had been up to, that had broken his will. There was nothing he could have said that would have changed her disposition.

There was nothing in his actions that deserved this exile, but what angered him more was the calm way that Lothiriel assured him that she would allow him to carry on in the way she thought he had. Had not one single thing that he had done been enough? She did not love him, or seem to care about him in that way at all, and that ran through his mind over and over again.

He was to be denied the comfort of his own bed for an action that he had not committed, and all the worse for this banishment was of his own making. Lothiriel had not barred him and had not cared enough to listen to him, which seemed to infer that she had expected to find them together, or to be so unbothered by it that she would not even raise her voice or fall into her turbulent silence. She had simply told him to carry on with his assumed betrayal with less concern that he had seen her give to menus for the Hall.

The storm of his thoughts ran in a circle, back through the same things over and over, and he sat there in his study, powerless to stop it, to make his mind calm itself and let him think out a solution.

0x0x0

She pulled her cloak tight around herself as she ran to her house. It was not such a terrible distance, but in her current state, having made it through her door, Leowella felt as if she had run for miles.

The house was dark and quiet, her servants already having gone home for the evening. She had waited for them to leave before she had gone to Meduseld. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, as she sat in her room, drinking alone and stewing on her regrets.

She had gone before, and no one had ever seen her. It was the sort of thing that she had only done when she was drunk, the part of her mind that hoped that Eomer’s kindly smiles still meant something more urging her on. He had never left the Royal Apartments before, at least as far as she had seen, and Lothiriel had not told her that things had improved, so she had been left to assume that the marriage was faltering.

There had been nights where she had twirled herself around the Great Hall for hours without anyone seeing her, and she had taken her chance to go after him.

She leapt into her bed, waiting for someone to come and drag her into the streets to read out an indictment against her.

Eomer had yelled at her… He had never done that before, and his words… that rejection was so complete that she could not stand it and could not imagine how she would ever be able to show her face again.

But Lothiriel had stood there for a moment, staring at him, and then turned and left. There was no anger in her. If Leowella had been the Queen’s shoes, she would have needed to be restrained.

For all her mild, and polite manners, Lothiriel Queen had a temper, so why had there been none of that, unless she did not mind in the least? That woman did not lover Eomer. It was a realization that she had been trying to squash, but now, Eomer had chosen her, and any shred of hope that he might return to her was dead.

All that love given to a cold little woman with no love to return for his efforts.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with the continuation of angsty drama.
> 
> Be prepared for people not being very nice.

Eomer King woke with a sore back and an ill-tempered rage burning in his chest. He had meant to wake Lothiriel and explain it all to her while she was too groggy to protest, but seeing her, looking at what he could see of her with the covers pulled over her face, that rage came back on. He could hardly be expected to love a woman that would not respect their marriage enough to fight for it, or even show any sort of emotion.

Now he understood that she had married his title and had never had an intention of knowing him beyond what was necessary. Had she accepted his suit with an eye to fulfilling her ambitions? Considering it, she had paid him little attention before he had asked to court her more than a few curtsies and smiles, and that might have been a planned thing, to stand out from the ladies that had tried to catch his eye.

If he had known that this was the way that their marriage would be, he would never have accepted the marriage. He would have married some other lady, probably from Gondor as most of his council had surprisingly seemed in favor of a foreign match. He could have married one of the giggling ladies that had pressed close to him the stone halls, and who had stared at him all moony-eyed and hopeful. He wouldn’t have loved any of them the way that he had loved her, but then he would not be in so much pain, either.

He had given her his entire heart and had been insulted for it and she had turned her back on him. She had stared him in the face and accused him of betraying her, and neither his honor, nor his heart could stand that.

Dressing quickly, wanting to leave before she woke and he needed to address her, he left their rooms.

What was he even meant to say to her?

On reflection, telling her that her friend had come to him and attempted to perform some sort of drunken seduction did sound completely absurd, but it was the truth, and Lothiriel should have known him better by now and should have known the sort of man that he was.

There was a thought that it had been a plan made between the pair of them, Lothiriel and Leowella. It seemed too wicked to be true, but the thought would not leave him, hard as he tried to dismiss it.

He stomped through the hall, his brow dark and no one approached him. There were meetings and documents to attend to, but he could not stand being penned in now. He needed open air and sky and needed to breathe freely.

He sent word to his lords that he would not see them today and left the hall.

0x0x0

They said that a problem slept on was a problem almost resolved, but Lothiriel did not find any truth in that presently. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. How did women live with this? Perhaps she should write to Gadrien and ask her advice, but that would mean admitting it. Gadrien had never spoken of Elphir’s dalliances, so that seemed to be the way that one took such things.

Staring at the canopy overhead, she scolded herself for being such a fool as that. They had not married for love. She had forgotten that she was a trophy, a reward for the service done by the Horse Lords.

At least her husband was kind to her, it could have been much worse, she reasoned to herself as he sat up.

Eomer’s robe was thrown over the back of his chair, so he had come to dress for the day already. It was all the better, as she was not certain that she was ready to face him. It was stupid. She had known this was going to happen, so why did it hurt as much as it did? Why did it feel as though her chest had been cleaved open and her heart ripped out?

Heohild knocked gently at the door as she did every morning when Lothiriel did not rise with Eomer, bringing her coffee. She smiled, “Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning,” Lothiriel said, sitting up with some resignation that she would need to just get on with it and get the day started.

Heohild’s face fell at the sight of Lothiriel’s face, “My lady, you do not look as if you have slept well.”

Lothiriel made a small, noncommittal sound and went to press a cold, damp hand towel to her eyes to bring down the puffiness.

“Are you well, my lady?” Heohild asked, concerned.

“Yes, of course,” Lothiriel smiled, her mouth feeling wrong as she did it, her throat was sore from screaming into the pillow. There was nothing she wanted more than to climb back into her bed, burrow deep under the covers and never see the light of day again, but that was not acceptable.

She would not give anyone involved the satisfaction of breaking her.

What hurt the most is that if Eomer came to her and told her that it had been a mistake, she would accept him with open arms. If he said nothing of it, but offered some small sign of remorse, she might accept that. Perhaps she should have let him lie himself out of the mess of it, but she had thrown that chance away in her own temper.

She hadn’t wanted any of this, to have fallen in love with him, or for him to take up other ladies as a distraction but had known that the latter was a probability. He was young and handsome, and any lady would be fortunate to have his company.

She sat down to her breakfast, skimming through her correspondences. There was a letter from her father, and another from her aunt. Did she even want to read the well-wishes, and the news from home, let alone the inquiries into her condition that would end the letter as each one had.

Eomer had assured that he had no natural children, and she took his word for it now, knowing that he never spoke a false word. But he had told her that he loved her, admittedly while he was three sheets to the wind, and last night…

She shook her head, clearing it of all of the tender memories that now made her heart twist unpleasantly.

She would dress and attend to her duties and find some way to speak to her husband later, his own words of wanting to speak to her this morning dismissed.

If he sired a bastard before she was able to become pregnant, she needed to be certain that her own child would take precedence. It was her honor to birth the next King of Rohan, and she would not have that taken from her as her husband had been.

No, he had not been taken. He was not a stolen silver spoon, or a book borrowed and never returned. He was a person, with free will, and who could do as he pleased. He did not belong to her. He was a King and had a right to do whatever it was that he wanted. He would be right to dismiss her and her foolish, romantic notions, and relegate her to her duties.

Lothiriel squeezed her eyes tight to stop them from tearing again. She had a day ahead of her and she could not be seen to be weak. If she knew anything of court gossip, they would all know already that Eomer King had taken a mistress, and none of them had seen fit to tell her. In that case they were all laughing at her behind their hands, mocking her stupid, oblivious nature.

0x0x0

Lothiriel sat with her women, her face was the composed mask that she had perfected over years of court life. If they were going to mock her stupidity, she would not give them the added pleasure of seeing how broken she felt.

She stitched out a cushion cover, depicting a garden that she remembered from Minas Tirith, wanting to take comfort in her memories of her home, rather than sitting and mending Eomer’s clothes. She was not of a mood to touch anything of his, not trusting herself not to burst into tears at it. She had tended to him, and seen to his house and his comfort, and was rewarded with the loss of her closest confidante.

The logical, manipulative part of her mind told her to keep Leowella as her friend, to ensure that she was on good terms with her lord’s mistress, as would be the smart thing to do. But she could not manage that yet, the insult still feeling too fresh.

No, it was not an insult. It was the natural way of arranged marriages, she reminded herself.

Waerhild watched the Queen carefully, noting the shadows under her eyes, and Lady Leowella’s distance from her, and wondered if they had had some disagreement. She did not want to be gleeful if they had, but she was not particularly fond of Leowella, and considered her to familiar even by Rohirric standards. She had always been an odd one, a little… too… excitable for Waerhild’s tastes.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Waerhild asked as delicately as she could manage.

Lothiriel Queen looked up and for a moment looked rather like a rabbit who had been caught in a snare, “I did not sleep well,” she said with a small smile.

“Nor did I,” Leowella said suddenly, a look of vicious challenge on her pale face, “I tossed and turned all night.”

Waerhild looked between them, wondering what in the world was happening, and why Lothiriel’s blood seemed to drain from her face for a moment before flooding back all at once.

“Perhaps Your Grace was simply cold,” Leowella said, venom in her voice. Her rage was misplaced, and she knew it was. She had made a fool of herself and wanted to hurt someone so that she might not be alone in her pain. And she hated Lothiriel for not being better to Eomer. The suddenness of her rage surprised her a little, but it felt true. She loved him, and Lothiriel did not, and still had him.

Lothiriel stood slowly, her back rigid, and forcing all the other ladies to stand as well by observance of protocol. She made her way over to Leowella with purposeful steps. For a moment she stood there, staring into her only friend’s face, wondering if it was not enough that Lothiriel was completely alone in this strange country. Did she need to rub her success in? Did she truly need to stand there in her victory and proclaim to the entire world that Lothiriel was an abject failure who could not keep her husband?

She did not realize that she had struck her until Leowella’s head hit the floor, and Lothiriel’s fist trembled by her side, her knuckles were sore from the blow. For a moment she felt a small piece of vindication before she remembered who she was, what she had done.

Leowella stared up at her, blood spurting from her nostrils as she pressed her hand to the injury, her eyes wide and pained.

“Remove yourself from my sight, and never enter it again,” Lothiriel said, thunder in her voice. She watched Leowella scramble away from her and was far too aware of the women in the room, staring silently at her, judging her, and likely preparing the tales they would tell their friends. The Queen had gone mad, they would say, and perhaps she was. Where would they put her? What did one do with a Queen who had lost her mind?

She had struck the King’s Mistress. Eomer would not take this kindly, she knew. He was a loyal and protective sort, and Leowella would go running to tell him what had happened. That lady held his attentions, and likely his heart. He would lock her away somewhere that she could not embarrass him or send her back to her father in disgrace. She could not even plead her belly.

Taking a breath, Lothiriel adjusted her posture, turning to look at them, “Please return to your work. I will return presently.”

She did not wait for any of them to speak, and walked from the solar, leaving her cloak behind in her blinding emotions. She was furious, ashamed and wanted to sob. She needed to be alone, to be away from this place.

How she came to be in the stables, she could not quite recall, nor how she came to be saddling Sylmere, but she felt herself doing it before she fully returned to herself.

Eomer watched her running through the stables as he groomed Firefoot. They had just from their ride, which had admittedly lasted too long, especially considering the cold, but he had returned almost feeling better. The woman that he saw, that she saw right now seemed to be a woman possessed, wild and frantic. He set the brush aside, peering at her as she tacked her horse, her hands shaking.

She could hear someone speaking to her, but she was not listening to that raised voice, she was so deep in her own mind.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded again, his voice that furious roar that she had heard him use on others who so displeased him. It had never been directed at her, and she flinched a little, waiting for him to strike her.

“I beg your leave, my lord, I meant to clear my head.”

“And you would ride out wearing so little as that?” his scoff was an indictment of her stupidity. He would have put his own cloak around her if had ha not meant to make the point clearly, or if he had been in even a lightly better mood.

She wanted to slap him for speaking to her that way, for being so careless with her heart. Her mouth opened for a moment and she could not think of anything to say.

“And without a guard? You would ride out with no guide and let yourself freeze? Are you truly that stupid?”

“I did not think that you would mind, somehow.”

If had been of a more understanding disposition, he might have seen her actions as distressed, but in his present state of mind, he only saw a petulant and spoiled child, who was not being given her way, and was lashing out at him for it.

His face darkened further. This was not the place for a disagreement, especially one so ridiculous, “Get yourself inside, now.”

“Why should I? Because you order it!?” she snapped back.

His temper had been foul before, and this was doing nothing to calm it. He would not stand here and explain to her what she knew that she was being foolish, and she was clearly not going to tell him why she was being so. He snatched her a little roughly, and threw her over his shoulder, carting her through the short street to their house, and back into the hall, almost amused by her struggling against him, until she stopped, stilling and hanging her head.

There had been fight in her for a moment, and that moment had stoked a hope in him that she might in fact be angry. What was his life, that having his wife furious with him seemed the best option?

He set her down in her chair before the fire, having felt how cold she was, and more than that, wanting to have her in one place for long enough for him to calm himself and speak to her. What had possessed her to go out without anything warm enough on? He stared into the fire, resting his forearm on the mantle, trying to collect himself, meaning to have this out, but too angry to find the words.

She sniffed behind him, and he rounded expecting to see her crying, but she was only blowing her nose from the cold.

“What am I to you?” he asked, his heart aching at the question, his voice coming out with all the fury that he had tried and failed to smother.

“You are my husband, lord,” Lothiriel said, that calm disposition firmly back in place. She stared at him with almost confusion at the question.

“I am, but what am I beyond that? What I am to you?”

She let out a shallow breath, trying to regain her dignity after having been carried like a sack of potatoes into their rooms, and in full sight of every noble in court, “You are my friend, my lord.”

That answer pierced him through, for a moment his mind emptied of every thought that wasn’t painful disappointment, “And that is all?”

“What else should you be?” Did he expect her to make some confession of love after what he had done? Two days ago, she might have, but now she was relieved that she had not. She would not give him the satisfaction of her broken heart.

“The way that you,” he faltered, trying to think of some polite way to say it to her, wrestling his temper. He pointed toward their bedchamber, “You do not go to bed a friend in the way that we have!”

“I would not know, my lord,” her voice was chilled as she served him an insult that would have been better to check, “Perhaps in time you might explain to me how one is meant to do that with a friend, as you are far more worldly than I.”

Some part of him admired her in that moment, but his indignation overpowered his respect, “Then my word that nothing happened between myself and Leowella means nothing to you?”

He had not said that, and she did not believe him now, no matter how much she wanted to. She was so tired, and just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until it did not hurt so much, until she could not remember Leowella wrapping her arms around Eomer’s shoulders, her lips surely offered up to him. She wished she could stop imagining all the things that they would have done together, all the things that she had wanted him to do.

“Lothiriel!” he called at her, wanting her attention back.

“As I have said, my lord, I will do my duty,” she said after a moment, “I only hope that any children I bear you would be seen as your rightful heirs.” If he had not already decided to toss her out on her ear, that was. What had she thought she was doing, raising to Leowella’s bait? She should have smiled demurely, asked after her health and drawn back into herself, where none of them could hurt her anymore.

He wanted to shake her out of whatever stupor she was barricading herself in. There was fury in her somewhere still, there had to be.

There had been such a tender way between them, all gentle touches and whispers, and he clung to that last shred of hope that she was truly not as heartless as this, and her outbursts, small as they might seem did further that hope that she might indeed by angry with him.

Unless this was her, truly and without pretense. Had she been pretending the whole of their marriage? That seemed to be a stretch.

“Then you have no other feelings for me?” Eomer asked, gutted that he even had to ask.

“You have been so kind to me, my lord, and I am pleased that we are able to be such friends to each other.”

“Have you in truth so willfully left your good senses?” he demanded. How could she think that he was not loyal to her above all others? Had he not shown her well enough how he felt? There was not a single thing more that he could think of.

The longer he looked at her, the more he was certain that the pair of ladies had conspired in some way. The way that she had smiled, assuring at him, made all the more sense if she had in fact decided to give him someone else to bed.

Lothiriel could not decide why was he insulting her. She had done everything that she was meant to do. Surely, he could forgive her a moment of fury against all the good that she had done. What more did he want from her? Did he want to see her break? Would that amuse him? Would he take that Leowella’s bed where they could laugh about what a fool she was? No, she would not give him that.

She lifted her chin a little, smiling a little at him, “My lord, what do you mean?”

That should not have broken him, but it did, and he could not stand here and let her toy with him. That was the only explanation for her cold, calm demeanor. This shell of malice was not his wife, or at least was not what he had believe her to be.

“If I had done what you think, there is not a soul that would think poorly of me for it,” he shouted at her, wanting to hurt her, wanting her to respond to him, but she simply looked through him as if he were nothing, which only infuriated him further. “There is not a soul that would expect me to find satisfaction in your cold bed!”

There was the faintest glimmer of pain in her eyes before she smothered it, drawing herself back, checking herself from reacting, from crumpling down or scream at him that she was doing her best. He had never complained of her before, “I, of course, understand, my lord.”

He was screaming at an empty husk and would do better to yell at the walls. Did she have so little self-respect that she would let him speak this way? Or was it that she considered his opinions so far beneath her that they did not bear response beyond her polite manners. Whatever her reason, it angered him all the more, “I will not sleep in your bed, lady. Nor do I find myself wanting your company.”

“May I take my seclusion, lord?” she asked drawing on every bit of strength left in her, “That time is almost upon me.”

“Do whatever you want, your frigid wretch.”

“I will sleep in the solar, then,” she smiled gently at him, trying to slow the hammering of her heart. She felt as if it were beating hard enough to break her ribs, and she tried to turn her mind to the things that she would need to arrange for her own comfort in her small house. Would he want her at table when the seclusion had passed, or would he prefer that she stay out of his sight until he called for her? “You should not sleep in your study. I know that your back has been troubling you.”

His lips curled back in a snarl as he looked at her and her pretended care, not knowing what he had ever seen in her. His mind blocked out every sweet moment, every time she had stroked his cheek, or nuzzled close to him. It was all a lie done only for the benefit of her ambitions. He turned from her and stalked away, not wanting to look at her a moment longer.

She stood to curtsy, but he did not see her, “I am sorry if I have offended you, my lord,” Lothiriel said, watching him, her hands clenching tight at each other. It was a desperate thing to do, and she hated herself a little for it. People said things in anger that they did not mean, and though she did not know why he was angry, she had hoped that he would hear her words and turn back to her. She had hoped that he would take it all back and make his own apologies.

But instead, he stopped in his steps for a moment, and after that moment he shook his head minutely, and walked on without sparing her another glance.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, she ran to the bedchamber, her fury blinding her. She was of noble birth, and he was casting her aside without any consideration, and that might be tolerated, but the way that he spoke to her was not. A gentleman would have the decency not to rub salt in the wound.

A lady did not raise her voice, a Queen especially did not. So, she had sat there, quietly taking his brutal honesty and saying nothing. She had been robbed of the ability to speak her mind or scream it when she had been born, and he had robbed her of her peace.

She had given him a chance to make amends, and he had rejected it, as he rejected her.

She paced the floors of the bedchamber, her nails picking at her cuticles as she worked out what she ought to do. There was no winning hand, the best chance she had was that path that she had chosen, as much as she hated it. Her entire life had been paved with people instructing her and dismissing her, and she was so tired of accepting it. Had it been such an absurd thing to expect him to respect her? She had been born to improve her family’s standing, and she had done that and smiled as she ignored her own wishes.

The beginning of a plan crept into her mind, and she saw a way to punish him.

She sat at her desk and dipped her pen into the inkpot, and began the letter to Faramir, crafting each word carefully, not initially noticing where the ink ran from her tears, or that she was crying again at all.

Wiping her eyes, she blotted the letter and folded it, binding it with her seal and setting it with the other outgoing correspondence in the corridor by the steps up to the Royal Apartment, the King's apartments... It would be taken within the hour, and what small piece of vengeance she could take would be hers.

Faramir shared everything with his lady wife, and Lady Eowyn would write Eomer a scathing letter, at the very least he might feel some piece of what she felt. She was certain that Faramir would send the word no further. As Steward, his principal concern was maintaining the alliance, and would not want rumor to get out about any discord in her marriage.

Bolting the door to the bedchamber, she turned, to arrange her things to have them moved, and her rage slowly dissipating and leaving her only the all-consuming sorrow. She stared at the wide bed, perfectly made by the servants, and the pinnacle of comfort and domesticity.

She sank to the floor as it all washed over her again. She tried to quiet herself, pressing her hands over her mouth, in case anyone had come to clean the rooms.

Everything hurt so terribly, and now she knew what he truly thought of her. His patience with her was spent and she would need to live with whatever crumbs of his former kindness that he deemed worth the effort. 

She would move into the Solar tonight and stay there. She could not stay in the King’s bed. It was not hers, but more than that, she could not imagine that she would be able to bear the constant reminder of her failure. He could come and they would do their duty, and he could go back to his own bed and whatever companions he preferred.

Had she been cold? Her worries that she had been insatiable and lusty seemed childish to her now, having heard what he really thought of her. He was angry and might not mean it, she reminded herself, but she was left with only his words and his disdain, and could not think of anything else, try as she did.

Removing herself from their rooms, from his rooms, was the most logical solution but thinking it out step by step drew another wail from her chest. She pulled her knees up against her chest and sobbed, rocking back and forth like a madwoman.

0x0x0

Heohild hesitated at the door, hearing the muffled wails of agony, and not knowing what she should do. No one had ever told her to proper protocol for what to do when the Queen locked herself in and wept this way. It made her own heart ache, but she could not go into the room or even knock.

Perhaps she should fetch Lady Leowella, she knew they were friends, and she would know what to do.

Having failed to find the lady, Heohild went to the Queen’s Solar, which was empty, but for Lady Baldgwyn and Mistress Waerhild. They sat together, whispering, their heads close together.

“I beg your pardon,” Heohild said, curtsying, “My lady, do you know perhaps where I might find Lady Leowella?”

“She’s packing her bags, if she has any sense,” Lady Baldgwyn said, her voice tight, a quick flash of malice coming into her eyes, “Did the Queen ask for her?”

“No, my lady, but…” Heohild stopped. She was not a spy or a gossip.

“Is Her Grace alright?” Waerhild asked, the look of concern on her face was so earnest that Heohild felt a little more comfortable speaking of it.

These two ladies were close to the King, and so would know more than anyone, if she judged right, “I think not… She has locked herself in her bedchamber and sounds rather distressed.”

“Fetch the King,” Lady Baldgwyn said.

“I do not know that it would help,” Waerhild shook her head, and scoffing, “if you are right.”

Lady Baldgwyn sighed, all but tossing her needlework into her basket, and standing, “Take me to her, and let us see if we might find a way to soothe her.”

Walking down the corridor to the Royal Chambers, they passed a page with a tray of personal letters to be sorted and delivered by royal couriers. Neither gave it so much as a glance, it being so common, and the pair of them working out their own concerns.

Heohild paused on the landing of the door, looking over her shoulder before Lady Baldgwyn smiled at her reassuringly.

“Run along. I will see to this as far as I am able.” Once she was alone, Lady Baldgwyn knocked at the door, waiting to hear anything in the chambers. She was not moving from this spot until Lothiriel Queen gave some answer, even if it was a dismissal.

0x0x0

The knocking at the door became more and more insistent and Lothiriel wanted to scream for whoever it was to bugger off and let her have a moment of peace to herself. But she was not in a position to be so demanding. Her husband had not said that he planned to absolve their marriage, but she could not risk any foolhardiness or rash decisions.

She dried her eyes and went to the door, and opened it, “Lady Baldgwyn.”

“Are you well, Your Grace.”

“I am. Simply a fit of weariness.”

Baldgwyn smiled sympathetically at her and her lie, “Dear girl…”

No one had called her that since her uncle’s death, and that brought on a whole other wave of sorrow, that she could not check in time as the tears filled her eyes. She was alone in the world, not a single soul would really sympathize or care enough to save her from her life. Her family would see her as a dishonorable wretch and have her locked away somewhere until-

“Oh,” Baldgwyn moved quickly, wrapping her arms around Lothiriel’s shoulders for a moment. She looked down the hallway and came into the rooms, closing the door, “You just tell me what has happened.”

Lothiriel went to sit on the floor by the bedroom door, silently sobbing, and pressing her hands to her eyes, trying to stop it. She should not confide in this woman, her husband’s friend who would turn around and tell him everything she said. She shook her head, “I am well,” she croaked out.

“You are not,” Baldgwyn sat beside her, pulling Lothiriel’s head to her chest, “If you do not wish to tell me, then do not, but you should not be left here to cry alone.”

She shouldn’t have felt comforted by the gesture of family intimacy, as if Lady Baldgwyn was her mother or her wetnurse, but she sobbed against the woman’s chest, her fingers clutching at her shoulders, “I am a fool and I will be dismissed, I know it.”

“Oh, hush that now,” Baldgwyn ran her hand over Lothiriel’s back, “Eomer would never-”

“I struck his mistress!” Lothiriel cried out, leaning back to stare at the older lady, “I broke her nose! Do you imagine he will be pleased?!”

“Eomer King has no mistress,” Lady Baldgwyn reassured her, “He has not so much as looked at another lady since your wedding day.”

Lothiriel laughed at the words, “I saw them together.”

Baldgwyn’s face fell, “You…?”

“She was with him last night, in his study, and I saw them. I suppose he expected that I would sleep through the night and would never know,” she gasped for breath, “He tried to tell me that it was not what I saw, but he went back to her.” Lothiriel wiped her eyes on her sleeve, something she had not done since she was a child, trying to hold on to the pause in her tears, but knowing they would come on again, “And he will no longer share my bed.”

“Oh, his temper will pass, and he will return to you.”

“He told me that he will not,” Lothiriel sniffed, “I will remove myself and stay in the guest room for his comfort and convenience.”

“You should demand he move,” Baldgwyn said, trying to imagine Eomer being as foolish as all this, but she could not think of him going behind Lothiriel's back. The whole court knew that he was in love with his wife, and he had always been a loyal sort of man when it came to his heart.

"I cannot!" Lothiriel stared at the older woman, aghast at the very idea that a wife would bar her husband from their rooms, all the more horrifying a notion when that husband was a king. How was one to tell a king where they could or could not go? She looked away, shaking her head, “Our marriage is made for politics, he said so, and I forgot it. He should live as he had before I came here, and I will do my duty, when it please him.”

Her resignation pierced at Baldgwyn’s heart, but she did not know what to say to her to tell her that she was wrong, that she had to be mistaken. The best she could manage was to say, “This will pass. Your husband is a pigheaded man, and his temper is a vicious thing, but he will calm, and he will be as he was with you before. You simply need to speak to him?”

“And say what?” her smile was so terribly sad, “I have already told him that he may make whatever arrangements he needs. It is my fault for forgetting myself.”

“How do you mean?”

Her chin trembled, the truth of it tumbling out before she could stop it, “How could I be enough? I am just a stupid… not a maiden anymore, but I know next to nothing of such matters. How could I keep him amused? There are ladies here far more lovely than I, and I forgot that. For a few weeks, I thought I might be enough for him, like the fool that I am.”

She was going to beat the idiot over his head, King or not, Baldgwyn decided, wrapping her arms around the young woman as she sobbed. “You are more than enough, and if you are right, then he is the fool.” She rocked with her, rubbing her back and letting her cry. She was going to rip Leowella’s arms off and beat her with them, while she was at it, if she was still in the city.

0x0x0

Eomer had sat and brooded and tried to distract himself with his papers but made little enough success at not thinking about Lothiriel, and her apology.

It was strange, and the quiet almost pleading way that she had said it.

He should have controlled his temper, he should not have spoken to her that way, he knew it. He knew that he had likely one more damage than the simple, albeit incomprehensible, misunderstanding had done. He should have simply explained himself rather than challenging her and asking questions that he currently had no right to ask.

What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. That was the problem. That was always the problem. He didn’t think thought a problem but attacked it with reckless abandon. He would need to make this right, and approach it with a calm and level head, and possibly with no small amount of groveling.

0x0x0

Lady Baldgwyn eventually had to leave her, and as she petted over the girl, and hugged her one last time, she tried to work out what she would say to Eomer. Her natural instinct was to snatch him by the ear as she had when he was a boy but was aware that depending on his state of mind, that might not be the best way to work it out.

She opened the door and stared at Eomer’s stricken face.

Baldgwyn had expected to have a few moments at least to collect her thoughts, to find the right way to speak to him, but he was standing there outside the door, looking for a moment as if he was a servant that had been caught listening at the keyhole.

She closed the door behind her, glaring at him, “Did you?”

He shook his head, the look on his face begging her to believe him.

Nodding, she pressed his shoulder, her gaze not wavering as she watched him crumple. He had always had a temper, and he sometimes said things he didn’t mean to hurt those that upset him. She did not want to consider what he might have said to Lothiriel, if anything.

She pointed back at the door with that same almost murderous look, and as he hesitated, the lady snatched his arm and all but yanked him toward the door.

Eomer King paused a moment, taking a breath and wincing. He looked back at the middle-aged lady who had been almost like an aunt to him, almost hoping that she would save him from having to make the apologies that he needed to. He had been brooding over his loss of temper, the callous way that he had spoken to her in his rage, and over her apology to him.

Lady Baldgwyn pushed her hand against his back, her face not reflecting any understanding or sympathy. She looked as if she would like nothing better than to smack him upside the back of his head.

He took a deep breath and went into the apartment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, guys. I feel so loved!

He found Lothiriel pulling things from the dressing room, and preparing them to be moved, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Not wanting to startle her, but knowing that he would regardless, he knocked gently that the door frame.

Lothiriel froze in her movements, “I beg your pardon, my lord, I will be…” she hesitated, “I should leave, and let you have your rooms. I can have my things brought later.”

She had done her best to resume her disinterested and offhand air, but her eyes were red and puffed from crying. As she looked at him with a barely concealed agony, and he could see her struggling to hide the pain she was feeling. Why had he not noticed before?

The shame that he had felt at hearing her wailing cries was multiplied by seeing her in all of her misery. She turned her face down to the floor as she dipped and began to make her way to the door.

He stopped her from leaving, and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest, “I must beg your forgiveness.”

She was stiff in his arms, but he could hear the shallow breaths as she tried to control herself, to rein in her emotions, and he felt all the more shame for not thinking that she had been doing so from the moment she had walked into the study the night before.

“I did not truly mean a word of what I said, I… I have no excuse for myself,” he whispered, “You are the very best of women, and I do not deserve you.”

Lothiriel tried to pull back from him, but his arms tightened around her. She couldn’t breathe, not that he was smothering her, but she could not catch her breath. Without thought, her fists began to hammer against his chest, and she was all but mute as the wave of fury overtook her again. Why was he not stopping her from hitting him? He should hit her back, she thought, or snatch her hands in his and… do something.

He let her wear herself out, holding fast to her, until she stilled, crying and screaming. Cupping her face, making her look at him, he spoke, needing her to understand, “Love, I did not betray you, I swear it. She… I did nothing but try to get her to leave, I swear it.” That he had been tempted at all, even in the small way that he had been, was a barb in his pride that he didn’t need

“Then you do not find me cold?” the strain was coming back into her voice.

“No, I am sorry that I ever said that. I do not want you to go anywhere or remove yourself, or take your seclusions or… I want to stay with you in our bed, and in my life. I thought that perhaps you did not care for me and was angry.”

She stared back at him, all wild hair and blazing eyes, “I do care, though I do not know why I should!” she screamed at him, “I have felt all day as if I would die, but have tried to control myself, and to be a good wife and not give rise to some rumor or other, but you have been nothing but cruel to me! And now you come back here at Lady Baldgwyn’s bidding to make amends?!”

There was the rage that he had wanted to see, and now there was a quick sense of fear, but it passed. For a moment he thought that she might hit him again, but that was better than her silence.

“I came on my own,” he said carefully, “though I did hear you, and felt all the worse for it. I want to apologize for the way that I spoke to you, and I want us not to war at each other.”

Lothiriel’s heaving breaths were the only sound in the room and Eomer prepared himself for another volley from her hands, his own clasping a little tighter on her shoulders to stop her if needed.

“I swear that I did nothing with her. She does not matter to me,” he said, again, “Lothiriel, I do not want any other woman, nor have I since we married.” She tried to pull away from him, but his hands clasped her shoulders, “I need you to hear me, and I need you to understand.”

“I know that it is my duty to stand by you no matter what,” she croaked, trying to sound like a well-mannered and poised young lady and failing miserably.

“Even if I hurt you?”

She hesitated but nodded, “I am your wife, your queen.”

“If you think I have done… I have not, but if you are so hurt, I would not have you so concern yourself with appearing as if you are not!”

“I will not give you any more cause to send me away!” she shouted back at him, her voice breaking.

His face shifted, “I have no such intention.”

“Even after my outburst this morning?” she asked, waiting for him to scold her or else react in some vicious way. It seemed that all the anger had melted out of him and he was in truth begging her to understand him and listen to him.

“What outburst? In the stables?” he asked, laughing, “That was nothing!” If anything, he should likely add his carrying her out of the stables to the list of offenses that she should forgive, though he did not consider himself entirely in the wrong on that one. It was likely best not to speak of it yet, until she did, for he feared that reminding her of it would only serve to further infuriate her.

“No… with Leowella…” had no one told him then? Oh, he would be furious even if he spoke the truth and had no feelings for her beyond friendship. If she had not struck the King’s Mistress than she had struck his friend, and a friend that he had known since childhood. Did whatever had happened last night change that friendship, or would they make up as he was doing now with her?

He stood straighter, studying her for a moment, “What happened with her?”

“She alluded to…” Lothiriel gestured vaguely between them, “that you had…”

“And I have told you that we did nothing, so which of us do you believe?” Eomer asked.

“I want to believe you, my lord, but… she was not entirely dressed…”

“And I spent perhaps ten minutes trying to cover her,” Eomer exclaimed, almost laughing now as he thought about the wild dash about his desk trying to throw the cloak over Leowella’s body. Why could Lothiriel not have seen that? There was no mistaking the half-crazed intention as Eomer had chased after her, his brow set in irritation.

“You did?”

He nodded, exasperated, “I told her to leave and she did not!”

Her face paled, for a moment and she climbed up on the edge of the bed, staring at the floorboards, “I may have broken her nose…”

For a moment, Eomer could not quite accept her words or process them. He stared at his petite wife and tried to imagine her hitting anyone. She had said that she had only hit those who had deserved it, and that seemed to rather fit the description of this situation. It occurred to him that he should be angry that she had done some violence, but he more felt relieved that his own nose was still intact if she had been angry enough to strike someone.

He took in her face, downturned and contorted in terror at what he might mean to do, and he chuckled, watching her shift her weight nervously, “Perhaps I should not tell you to feel so free with your temper if you mean to go about it in that way.”

“I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

“Oh, my fierce little wife. It is for me who should be begging,” he kneeled in front of her and cupped her face.

“But, if nothing occurred between you, then I struck her with no cause.”

Eomer hesitated, “She did attempt to seduce me…” he said with no small amount of amusement, “I have seen fights break out over less than that.”

“But my women saw me do so,” Lothiriel said, “Will there not be some angry words over it?”

He laughed, “No. They will say that you have become an Eorlinga, and that you are not a woman to be challenged on anything.”

Lothiriel stared at him in confusion, “Is that what it takes to be initiated into this country?”

He squeezed her hand, “I should not have left you until I told you the truth of what had happened. I have been in such a foul mood because you would not believe me, but I did not in truth try to explain myself.”

“What else should I have thought?”

“I know, but I have given you my word, and I suppose I thought that you ought to have taken it,” he thought for a moment, “Do you truly think that I have been with other women since we were married?”

She shrugged awkwardly shifting her weight more than her shoulders, “I see how some of the ladies at court look at you, and…” she did not know how to tell him all the things that she had thought when he looked at her that way. He seemed as if he would be heartbroken by whatever she would say. “I do not pretend that… men have such needs, and perhaps I would not be able to fulfill them all.”

“Well, I see how some of the men look at you,” he pointed out, “but that has never led me to believe any such thing of you!”

“I am your wife, and your Queen,” Lothiriel said as if that put all such discussion to bed.

“Indeed, and so I trust you,” Eomer said, “but I am your husband, should you not likewise trust me?”

“It is different.”

“How so?” he asked, genuinely confused, and trying to understand her point.

“I am a lady of noble birth, and…” she gestured broadly, “Well, it is to be accepted for a husband, especially a King to seek out other company, but a wife…” she shook her head, “that is quite different.”

“How is it?” Eomer asked, and controlling his quick desire to snap at the exasperated look that she gave him, “If a person is married, and betrays their spouse, why should it matter the sex of that person?”

“Well…” she began, trying to find a delicate way to say it, “Men have certain… uncontrollable urges, and therefore-”

“I am going to ask you to stop yourself there,” he held up a hand, then curled his fingers in apprehensively, momentarily concerned that she would bite his fingers and draw blood, “Do you think that a man is incapable of controlling himself?”

She stared at him, “Yes?”

He nodded, mulling that over, “A man that cannot control himself is not a man, and should not be regarded as one… Is that what they told you at that school of yours?”

She bit back the retort that her personal experiences had done more to affirm that than the scary stories told to maidens, “Yes, that is why a lady may not be alone with a man, unless he is her kin, or her husband.”

Eomer stared at her, trying to decide what part of that was the most absurd, that this concept seemed to put the responsibility of some awful action on the lady who might be made a victim by some brute, or the fact that all men were assumed to be as vile as that, and that such a thing was to be accepted. In the Riddermark, such villains were dispatched, either by the law, the woman herself, or by anyone else with enough sense to see the wrong done.

He wanted to ask for further clarification on this matter but had already said his peace and thought better of reiterating the point.

Her gaze, as she waited for him to speak, bored into his face and he took a breath, “I would not go back on my word, and I have pledged myself to you. I have not been with anyone else since our wedding.”

When had she imagined that he had found time to have bedded all of these imaginary women? His movements were well accounted for, and he had never barred her from any room. The logistics of how he could have managed such a thing made him feel thankful that he was not a complete letch.

“Then why did you stop?”

He frowned, trying to understand the question, “Stop what?”

“For almost a month, you did not… bed me.”

Eomer’s eyes widened, “You thought…” he turned toward her, taking hold of her hands, “I thought that it would be better to allow you to decide when we should make love. I did not want you to believe that I saw only that sort of satisfaction in you.”

She pulled her hand loose and smacked at his shoulder, “Did it not occur to you to tell me that?”

“I meant to,” he admitted, “but I had forgotten…”

“What else have you forgotten to tell me?”

Eomer thought for a moment, not certain if he should tell her now, or if she would not believe him, and think he was only speaking to save his own neck. He might not be believed anyway, “That I love you.”

Lothiriel clicked her tongue, looking away and shaking her head.

“Do you not believe me?”

She did not answer, not certain what to make of his words, sweet as they were, and as much as she wanted to believe him. But what did they mean in truth? She did her best to be realistic about it all, but if he meant them in the way that she wanted him to mean it. Oh, damn it all, why was this so confusing?

“Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I would be loyal to you, or that I would love you?” he demanded, “Why is it that each time I tell you that I care for you, or speak to some admiration that you react this way?”

She pulled her hand free of his and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to think out his question without feeling as uncomfortable as she did. “Do you honestly want to have this conversation, or are you simply asking out of frustration?”

“May I offer you a drink?” Eomer went to fetch the whiskey without waiting for her answer, knowing full well what it would be.

Some conversations required alcohol, or at least the offer of it.

She followed him and stooped before the hearth, sliding a log awkwardly into the fire to ensure it would not burn out. “Everyone that has ever said they loved me has lied or is dead.”

Eomer looked at her, confused, “Your family-”

“Gave me up without a second thought,” her voice was a little cold as she went to her chair and pull a stole from the back of it to wrap over her shoulders, “Faramir, I suppose, loves me in his way, but I have not found that I have been able to trust in the word.”

“Do you trust action?” Eomer asked, watching her stand and passing her a cup.

She considered it, and ever thing that he had done, every small action, “I am not a very good person, Eomer. I have tried to be, but…” she could not explain it all, “I do not know that I do deserve it. Before I came here, I was… as catty and as prejudiced as any other lady of my acquaintance.”

“But you do seem changed since then,” Eomer watched her shift her weight, slipping her feet out of her shoes.

“I am so consumed by rage sometimes I feel as if it will choke me,” she whispered.

“And yet you still think to hold It all in? For what reason?”

“I must,” the question rattled her, “It is not appropriate for a lady to scream, but sometimes I want to so badly.”

“Then do,” Eomer studied her, “Thiriel, if you are cross, tell me so. This debacle only came to pass because we were not being honest with each other.”

“And because your former lover seems rather unhinged presently.”

Eomer winced, “We were never lovers, not in the way that you think. I had never thought that she had felt as she did.”

She pulled her feet up under her, thinking and drinking, “You have told me before when you were inebriated, that you had feelings of that nature for me, but I did not believe you.”

“I think that you might do well to tell me everything I said when I was drunk,” Eomer squinted at her, “for I do not think I want to hear it piece by piece over the years to come.”

Lothiriel smiled, “That you were not in fact drunk, and that you wanted me to stay with you. You were really rather pitiful. I had to help you undress.”

Eomer rubbed his hand over his face to hide his smile, “I had gathered that.”

“In truth I do not remember many of the specifics beyond that,” she thought for a moment, “You hit your forehead on mine trying to be tender, I think…”

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “I should have told you when I was sober, but I did not want to say it until I was certain that you felt the same, or would at least receive it well,” Eomer said, thinking for a moment, “And still, having waited am not certain that you believe me.”

“It seems rather fanciful, is all?”

“What about it does? I liked you from the start, but did not know you well enough for more than that,” he said, wearily, “Why do you think that I asked to court you?”

Her grey eyes widened, “I beg your pardon?”

The shock on her face made it all painfully clear, “You were never told?”

“No!”

“I asked your father if I might write to you, if I might court you,” Eomer explained, sitting back and closing his eyes, weary of explanations, but knowing that they needed to have as much of their relationship out and discussed. “The marriage was offered, and I accepted rather than arguing the point like the fool that I am.”

“Why would you…?”

“You were beautiful and intelligent, and you seemed to speak your mind,” he looked at her pointedly, “and I was perhaps infatuated by that boldness.”

“I was likely drunk,” Lothiriel admitted, taking a drink, “I was too given to drinking after my uncle died. There was no certainty of where I was to be placed, be it marriage, a convent, or back with my father.”

He leaned forward, “Then, why did you think our match was made?”

She grimaced, looking for the right words, words that would not offend him to his very core, “I thought that it was for the sake of alliance, and your friendship with King Elessar. That my family thought to advance themselves in the court by offering me up for marriage.”

“And you thought me the sort of man to take a wife against her will?” It occurred to him too late that he seemed to be that sort of man after all. “Why did you agree to marry me, then?”

Her looked at him as if the question was a stupid one before she sighed, “I was raised to expect an arranged marriage, and to make my peace with it.”

“Even if you did not like the match made for you?”

She nodded, “I thought that being friends with my husband was the best that I could hope for.”

There was a long, strained moment where he hoped that she would say that she had received more good fortune than she had expected, but she hid her face in her cup, and sat back, not meeting his eye.

He felt like boy, stupid and hopeful. It was enough that she cared and had fought a woman for him, or rather for her own honor, though it might have been a strange sort of thought to have but liked the idea of her brawling. He liked the idea of her fighting.

“I…” she stopped, and took another drink, “Have I truly pleased you, in _that_ way, I mean.”

He smirked at her wolfishly, “Yes.”

“And you have not found me…” she took a breath, “I was concerned that I was becoming rather… indecorous.”

It was such a strange thing to be concerned with, especially considering what they were discussing. “I have no complaints, dear.”

She stared at him, her lips pursed, “Then you do not find me to be… wanton?”

Whiskey burned it way out of his nostrils, and he coughed, his laughter hurting as he tried to breathe.

Lothiriel blushed, staring into her cup, wondering if she should hurl herself into fire and be done with it.

Eomer took another drink, trying not to laugh again, “What do they tell Gondorian ladies of these matters?” from the look she gave him, he guessed nothing, “There is no shame in what happens between us, Thiriel. We are married, and there is nothing that we have done that is wrong, nor is there anything wrong in anything that you want or feel.”

She blushed, deciding that the fire did seem the best option but Eomer took her hand again, and traced his thumb over her fingers.

“That act should be enjoyable for all involved, or it has not been done properly,” he said, in a low voice. It wasn’t the voice of seduction, more of a deep contemplation, “I have tried to ensure that you have enjoyed it as much as I have.”

“Is that why you… touch me there?” She felt stupid asking the question but at least he did not look at her as if she was so.

There was a careful understanding in the look he gave her as he nodded. He wanted to ask what she had imagined he had been doing, but the way that she had explained her thoughts so far, he was not entirely certain that he wanted to know.

She looked away again, trying to take in everything that he was saying and to understand it. “I always thought that… it would be uncomfortable, and a duty.”

He smirked again and kissed her hand, “It is a duty that I am very happy to share with you.”

She pulled her hand free and pinched him, shaking her head at him.

“I will gladly do my duty by you as oft as you wish, my lady wife,” he teased her.

“Alright, have you had quite enough of mocking my naivety?”

“I would never mock you, love,” he assured her, “However, I will continue to mock Gondorian prudishness until the day I die, so you have best get used to it.”

She could not quite muster indignation, or her rage again as he set his cup down and stooped in front of her, hesitating a moment as his face hovered over hers.

“I still have not heard you swear not to cut my throat in my sleep,” Eomer murmured, “Or say that you might forgive me for my oafishness.”

She thought for a moment before smirking, “What if I had no mind to make either vow?”

Eomer grinned back, thinking that he must truly be safe, if she could think to banter with him. “Then I will have Eothain sleep between us.”

“You never would!”

“He snores, and his feet smell terrible, but he will protect my life at least.”

“I think he would cheer me on,” Lothiriel challenged, tilting her chin up to him.

“Damn you, woman, for calling my bluff.”

She leaned forward to kiss him for a moment before settling back, “I am sorry I hit you, and called you faithless.”

He tilted her face up to look at him, “I am sorry that I ever let you think I was.” His thumb stroked her cheek thoughtfully, “We must make more of an effort to speak of our feelings to each other in future.”

“I will do my best.”

“As will I, and hopefully we can avoid any further messes of this sort.”

“Even if I were to raise my voice?”

“Especially, then!” Eomer scoffed, standing up, “Bema! How do you expect to be married without arguing?”

“Should I yell at you more?”

“If you are upset!” Eomer sank back into his chair, “I do not want you to be upset, but we are going to argue, that is the nature of life, especially when it is shared. We will disagree, but then we will find a way to make things work.”

“I wish my father had agreed to a courtship,” she said in a low voice, “I wish I would have known you better before we married.”

The words made him pause, and he wondered if she meant to say that she would have made a different choice, though it did not seem that she had in fact had much of one, a point that he would bring up with Imrahil the next time they met.

“I like you quite a lot, but I wish I could have known that you were a good man,” she went on, “I know I have said it before, and that it might seem as if I am… saying it too oft, but, I…” she had always been good with words, with twisting them and using them, but she had rarely had to actually discuss her personal feelings. “I might have been less nervous about being your wife if I had known that you were the sort of man that I would care for.”

“That would be the point of courting,” Eomer smiled, “at least as far as I understand it.”

Lothiriel rolled her eyes, “Where was all of this humor when you were in Gondor?”

He winced, “I do not like the court there, I must admit I always feel rather out of sorts.” He did not want to outright admit that Gondor made feel him uncouth. Even with as much as he disliked the way that the society there seemed to function, he felt as if he was the very barbarian that he was assumed to be.

“Then you glare at people so that they will not mock you?”

“You sound like my sister,” he shot at her, raising a brow at her.

“She might have mentioned that you were shy.”

“I am not shy,” Eomer scoffed, “I simply do not like speaking with people that I do not know well.”

Lothiriel giggled, “How foolish of me to have conflated the two.”

He watched her, relaxing and drinking, curled up in her seat, and hoped that she had in truth believed him, and that she knew that he did love her. She deserved better than whatever her life had been until this point. The little that she had told him of her life seemed tragic, and for the first time in months he considered Erchirion’s words. He had all but begged Eomer to be kind and had said that her life had been hard enough without him adding more to it. He had failed, even if he had rectified his failure, and he wondered what other sorrows she hid deep in her heart.

She looked at him, suddenly, her voice coming out as almost a laugh, “What?”

“I really do love you.”

Looking back at him with a slow, resigned smile, she said, “I love you, as well.”

“Truly, or are you only saying so to appease me?”

A slow, wicked smile crept over her face and she took another drink, looking back to the fire.

She loved him, he took the victory lap in his mind, and tried not to feel smug. There could be few enough doubts of it. His sweet, ladylike wife had punched a woman in the face, and had forgiven him for being a beast. The day had been full of surprises, and as pleasant as the last hour or so had been, he did not feel currently as if he would be able to withstand any more surprises.

0x0x0

Eothain had found his wife and Lady Baldgwyn at the door to the Royal Apartment, the elder holding what looked to be an old and sturdy table leg, the makeshift club resting on her shoulder as if she meant to use it to crack a skull. In whispered tones they had made it clear to him that if Eomer had tried to leave the rooms without making things up to his wife that they planned to threaten him into returning, barring his way until he saw sense.

They had stayed at the door at the sound of voices speaking a normal tone and had stayed as they heard Eomer King and Lothiriel Queen come through to their sitting room. It was only when it seemed that they were speaking of their feelings that they withdrew, knowing with a glance between them that they had no business listening, no matter how interested or curious they were.

“They will bed each other, and all will be solved,” Lady Baldgwyn said with the certainty of a woman that had been married twenty years, and in the privacy of her own sitting room where no one would hear her making such speculations.

“I doubt it,” Eothain said, having swallowed down the ale he had been drinking, “Eomer will want to sleep, and avoid company, but he will be too weary to do anything but hold her.”

Waerhild rolled her eyes at the two of them, “As long as they are no longer quarrelling, I do not see any reason for giving further considerations to their marital relations.”

Baldgwyn seemed honestly disappointed that the goodwife did not want to join in the guessing, “I will arrange to have their supper brought to them, and we can let the court think whatever they like.

“Agreed,” Eothain said, “But I want it on record that I understand Eomer’s nature better than you, my lady.”

The middle-aged lady’s face curled a little, “You should remember how well I know your nature and that of the King, as I minded you more often than anyone.”

“And you did so well, my lady,” Eothain grinned, holding his cup up to her and accepted the cling of their cups tapping together.

“I can still thrash you,” Baldgwyn said, beaming a little tipsily, “and never forget it.”

0x0x0

Eomer awoke from his nap, feeling better, and looking down at Lothiriel’s head on his shoulder. She had nestled against him, but not slept.

Staring ahead of her, Lothiriel thumbed at his tunic absentmindedly, thinking through the bizarre twists and turns the day had taken.

“Darling?” Eomer’s voice was heavy with sleep.

Lothiriel turned her face to look at him, smiling gently, waiting for him to say what he thought, or ask a question.

He cradled her head back against his shoulder and held her for a moment, nuzzling against her until she shifted to be released.

There was a hesitant look on her face, as if she had a question that she knew by their new agreement of open communication that she should ask but was trying to find the courage. She rested her head on her hand, her lips pursed as she considered. Finally, she spoke, “You always handle me so gingerly.”

He waited for her to go on, not knowing what answer she might expect.

“I had only wondered if that was… why are you so?”

Eomer rolled onto his side to look at her, “As I said, I thought it better to give you control of our bed.”

“Then, if I did not always want you to be so…?”

A slow, knowing smile took over his face as he watched her blush, “I am yours to command.”

“Then it is not wicked to think of such things?”

“It would be the very best sort of wickedness,” he reassured her, his smile taking on a mischievous edge. He reached to brush her hair back from her face, “I would have you tell me what you like, or what you would think to try. I do not want you worrying over this as much as it seems that you have.”

She bit her lip, thinking as she plopped her head on the pillow, staring up at the canopy, “I have been thinking that I was mad.”

“If you had told me this sooner, I would have assured you of your sanity.”

“And likely saved us a heap of trouble…”

“Yes, but that is past, and there is nothing to be done for it now.” He turned her face to him, tracing his thumb over her lip. She had forgiven him, but he still felt shameful over his behavior.

There was a gentle knock at the door and both of their heads swiveled to look at the door, not certain what was coming for their now, and neither really of a disposition to accept further challenges to their peace.

“Yes?” Lothiriel called, sensing that Eomer would feel just as well hiding in the dressing room until whoever it was went away.

“We have brought your evening meals, Your Highnesses,” a voice said on the other side of the door.

“Thank you,” Eomer called, scrambling up at the prospect of being fed.

She wanted to do something with her hair at the quick glimpse she caught of herself in the mirror, but there was little to do for it now. She looked frazzled and wild, and it was going to be a tangled mess later if she did not tend to it in some way. She took the pins out and grimaced at the mass that formed. Twisting it all carefully into something almost orderly, she tied the end of it and washed her hands and face before following after her husband.

Eomer had taken no notice of her lagging behind and had set about surveying the table with glee. He had not eaten since the morning, having been otherwise occupied, and now stacked his plate high before settling down.

There was wine and meats, bread, and sides. She poured them each some of the wine before making her plate and taking her seat. Looking over the small table at him, she found herself grinning at him.

Should she still be angry in some deep, concealed part of herself? If she should, she could not manage it. He seemed relieved and content, and open in a way, as if they had never quarreled. They simply ate their meal in a peaceful sort of quiet, and it seemed as if they both thought that they had said enough for the time being.


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t until the next morning that she remembered her letter, awaking with a jolt of terror, and by then it was too late. In the grey light of dawn, she sat at her little desk and scrawled out a note,

_“My Dear Cousin,_

_I would beg you to forget the last letter than I sent, for it was all for naught, and was simply a misunderstanding. My Lord Husband has explained the entire mess of it to me, and we have made amends for that. We are happy together, and there is no cause for concern in the least._

_Eomer King is the very best of men, and the kindest of husbands. I should not have doubted him in the least. I have been tormented by my own fury and the damages that I might have done by writing to you in that temper. Please be assured that I was foolish and that all is well._

_With Sincerity and Happiness,_

_Lothiriel Queen of the Riddermark.”_

Sealing it and hurrying from her room, she left Eomer sleeping and dropping it in the correspondence basket. It would be sent, and all would be well. Perhaps she should tell Eomer that she had been about such a devious plan, but it was hopefully resolved and he would never need to know what a vidicitive little beast she had been.

They had spoken and made peace, but she was nervous that she would lose that peace if she spoke now.

Climbing back into bed, she groaned out a protest as his arms wrapped around her and yanked her back against his chest, nuzzling against her shoulder. She rolled over awkwardly, wiggling herself in his hold as she looked at him.

He was a large man, and warm beyond reason, but she nested against him, looking over his sleeping face. There was a peacefulness about his features, and she tried to remember if she had ever seen him sleep before. He always woke before her, and it might seem like some intrusion, but she still found herself watching him, studying the way the thin shafts of morning light spread over his face.

Without the thought that she would normally have given such a thing, she traced a fingertip over his lips, smiling a little at the feeling of his breath puffing against her finger.

There was a small groan from him, and Lothiriel recoiled, worried that he would not like being awoken before he wished, or that he would strike out at her. She knew that some of the veterans of the war reacted in such ways if they were having nightmares. But he did not look to be having any bad dream.

Eomer blinked a little slowly, trying to focus his eyes, “Good morning,” he reached out to her, beaconing her to nestle beside him again. He liked feeling her beside him, and the gentle touch of her breathing.

She gave him a small smile as he wrapped his arms back around her, watching him close his eyes, trying to wake the rest of the way. She ran her fingers over his chest, raking through the light brown hair that grew there.

It occurred to her again that he loved her, and she looked at him, believing him and trying to sort out what it was that he saw in her. She nudged him gently and his eyes snapped open, focusing on her after a moment.

He let out a low sigh, “I am awake.”

Lothiriel giggled, sitting up a little, “Should I send for breakfast, then?”

He murmured his agreement, his hand trailing over her hip, wanting to pull her back to him and convince her to sleep for a few more minutes, but she was awake, and wouldn’t be able to doze back off.

Watching her pull on her dressing gown, he was struck by how purposeful her movements seemed to be. He had never noticed it before, always having taken it for natural grace. It seemed rather as if her grace had been studied and affected. She caught him watching her and looked at him with a smirk, shaking her head at him.

He stretched and groaned, trying to work the last remnants of sleep from his body before his wife came back. He brushed his teeth and washed his face and caught himself staring out at the sliver of light coming in through the curtains. The light was so bright, he knew it would have snowed again.

The sounds of Lothiriel directing servants, and of plates being set brought him back into himself. He pulled a shirt on against the chill and then his dressing robe and went out of see if the food had been set yet.

He was hungry, and as soon as the serving girls left, Eomer leaned in the doorway watching Lothiriel pour his coffee and put a little honey in it for it for him. She hummed quietly to herself as she worked. He must have shifted his weight or made some noise for she looked up at him suddenly with a smile.

“I was going to serve you in bed,” she said, “but since you are already up…”

“I can get back under the covers if it please you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him a little before going over to her seat and fixing her own coffee, “Why are you looking at me in that way?”

Eomer smiled a little to himself, coming over to her, not certain how he should answer, “How am I looking at you?”

She sipped her coffee, shrugging a little, “Very attentively, I suppose, almost whimsically.”

He let out a chuckle, “You look so beautiful, and I suppose I was simply enjoying the sight of you.”

“Oh hush, I look a mess,” she scoffed, brushing a hand over her hair.

“Perhaps, but no less lovely for it,” Eomer studied her, the way a few tendrils of hair had loosed themselves from her braid, almost creating a halo of frizzy hair. There was a freshness about her skin that seemed almost commonplace in the mornings, and even as she rubbed at her left eye she seemed to glow. It could be due to the snow, and the way that the sunlight outside reflected off of it, but Eomer still saw her that way. “I think you more lovely in fact, then you might be when you are of the image of Queenly splendor.”

“You know, dearest,” Lothiriel smirked, stirring honey and cream into her oatmeal, “I am no longer cross with you, so you needed flatter me so.”

“My lady, you know that I have only ever spoken the truth, so you might do well to accept that I am doing so now.”

“Alright, but might I point out that you are likely biased?”

“In what way?”

“Well, as I recall, last evening you told me that you were in love with me. Now, I know little of love, but I do think it might lead to one perceiving things in more favorable ways.”

Eomer smirked at her, “Be that as it may, but does it occur to you that perhaps I fell in love with you because you are beautiful?”

Lothiriel’s eyes widened, “Did you?”

“I will not lie and say that I was not attracted to your beauty, but attraction does not create love.”

She leaned on her forearm, “why do you love me, then?”

“I think, and please do not mock me for saying so, but I have fallen for you a few times,” Eomer admitted, wiping his mouth, “I like your mind, your kindness, and your…” he wanted to find the right word to explain it, “When you are not concerned with presenting the most perfect image of yourself, when you are sweet and playful, and…”

Lothiriel watched him, smiling a little at the way he was trying to explain himself.

“It is difficult to express such things,” Eomer admitted, feeling himself blush.

“I know,” she agreed.

“Then you are incapable of quantifying why you love me?” he tried to sound smug, to tease her.

“Oh, no, that is simple! It is because you buy me such lovely things!” she stared at him with wide eyed innocence.

If he had not known her better by now, he would have taken her word for it, but now he shook his head, “Alright then, I suppose I will need to maintain your affection by bribery.”

“As long as you know,” Lothiriel tilted her chin a little before smiling at him.

He looked over his wife, eating daintily and giving him quick furtive glances as if she was still trying to work out how it was that he was looking at her, and why. Reaching out and taking her hand, he drew her gaze back to him, “You are going to need to take my word for things. It has been hard enough to admit such things, and I would hate to have such admissions made and then disbelieved.”

“I know,” she gave him a shy smile, “It just seems so strange to me to be able to say that my marriage is a loving one.”

“You never had any sort of romance? I would have thought that you would have had all the boys chasing after you.”

“After my inheritance, perhaps,” Lothiriel scoffed, her face darkening a little, “I had been kissed before you, but no. I was always told that anything of the sort was not decent, as any man that wished for such attentions should speak to my family.”

“Then the fact that you had been kissed was quite the act of rebellion?” Eomer asked, as if impressed. He was in fact rather confused by it.

Her head wiggled a little, “A lady may flirt and the like, and I think there were some ladies that may have acted more boldly than I, but I always feared that I would be in such terrible trouble over anything of the sort.” She watched his face, “You think it rather foolish.”

“In my experience, the young will do as they always have,” he settled back, having finished his bowl, and was debating a second serving, and debating asking the question that was on his mind, “I heard a rumor that you might have married Lord Boromir had he not died.”

She nodded, “My uncle arranged it, but it was never public.”

He smirked to himself, “That would have been an interesting marriage.”

“In what way?” Lothiriel asked, thinking that he meant the large age gap between herself and her late cousin.

Eomer studied her for a moment, trying to decide if she knew that Boromir had been… close with Theodred, or not. He shook his head a little, “I knew him. He was a good man, and I respected him. I simply have a difficult time imagining you married to him.”

“As do I, in truth,” she smiled, “He was always rather like a brother to me. I of course miss him, but I did not want to marry him,” she studied him for a moment, trying to sort out the sly look that he was giving her as if they should be sharing some joke, but one that she was too stupid to understand, “What about you?”

“Do you want to hear about my conquests?” Eomer asked, confused.

“No, I do not!” Lothiriel laughed, “though I would like to avoid making friends with any of your other lovers! I meant why had you never married?”

It was a complicated question, he realized and wondered if it had been rude to ask her such a question. He remembered suddenly that he was speaking to his wife, and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed of anything. “I almost married when I was rather young, but she married someone else.”

Lothiriel’s eyes widened, “No!”

Eomer nodded a little wearily, "Yes, she fell in love with someone else, and I am glad that she is happy." The thought of the joke came on and he said without considering, "Waerhild is truly deserving such bliss." 

It received a better reaction than he could have ever hoped for as Lothiriel stared, horrified by his words, "The woman you loved married your closest friend!?"

He laughed, "Not in truth."

Lothiriel's face twisted into something like anger, but she could not stop herself laughing at him, "Why did I believe that?"

“Honestly I think Saewyn was not of a mind to be married to a soldier, and at that time, even with my holding and duties, I knew that I wanted to serve in the defense of the country.” He noted her wide eyes, and the sympathetic look on her face, “That was… over ten years past now. She is quite happy, has a good plot of land, and a few children.”

“Do you still speak to her?”

“From time to time I see her about. There are hardly any sore feelings about it now.”

“You mean it did not completely ruin the idea of marriage for you?”

He chuckled, “For a little while it did, I will admit. But I doubt I would have made a very good husband then. After that, I courted a few different ladies over the years, but nothing that ever really lasted.”

It was strange that she had only been able to marry him due to chance. She wondered if there were members of the court that were jealous of her good fortune, a consideration that she had of course thought of before, but it was different if he did truly love her. She believed him that he did, even as that little voice in the back of her mind tried to convince her that it was a lie concocted to save him from her rage.

He had looked at her in this way before, but she realized what it likely meant now. That warm reverent look that she had caught him giving her from time to time, that she had never been quite able to describe made sense to her now. The look had always instilled a warmth in her, but also a nervousness, feeling rather like some creature being kept for study and observation, as if he was waiting to see what it was that she might do. But if it was true, and if he had decided to love her, then it was not so much a look of silent judgement, as it was a look of genuine interest.

Had anyone ever looked at her in this way? For the first time she felt a serious consideration of her own self. Her entire life she had be so certain that she was actually interesting and worthy of observation but only in the clinical way that she had accepted thus far, not in this tender and assuring manner.

“Do you genuinely want me to put aside all pretenses of propriety and manners, or are you only saying so?” she asked, and it seemed that the question startled him a little.

He took the blessed moment of his full mouth, having decided in favor of the second serving, to work out his answer. He wanted to find the polite way to tell her that she was being silly.

She watched him carefully, a quietly hopeful way about her.

“I have said so,” Eomer said when he was able to, “Being married to a pretending person does not in the least appeal to me.”

“Then I suppose I should try to be myself.”

“Is it so hard for you to put aside artifice?” he asked, feeling rather proud of his choice of wording, and trying not to smirk to himself.

Her shoulders bobbed, “In general no, but I suppose I am like an animal in that way. If I feel attacked, I will try to hide, and that is the only way that I am able to.”

0x0x0

The next few days passed in a way that to them seemed normal, though having taken to reconsidering everything in the world, and in her own life, Lothiriel had taken to thinking out how her life was different from the lives of those around her.

Her life was the very height of privilege and she had of course considered it before, but not in this way. She wanted for nothing, especially now. She was loved, adored, and she had everything that she could ever want, well almost everything. That awareness had always been there, but it was all the more now, for she had actual power, in a way. She had never expected to have actual influence over her husband beyond a gentle hand here and there.

Eomer listened to her and took her advice and asked her what she thought of policy matters. For the first time it occurred to her that she could actually make a difference in people’s lives. Was that not her duty, then?

She needed to keep an eye on herself, or she would go too far into her own psyche. It was a bad habit, she knew, but it had been likely due to her social isolation. Had her childhood informed the way that she saw the world and people? Of course, it had, but had she not worked hard enough to move past those assumptions? No, she had not.

These thoughts snuck up on her and if she did not mind herself, then she would go too far into these introspections without any hope of coming out of them until someone dragged her out, like a drowning person yanked to the surface by the shoulder.

Waerhild had seemed to decide that she should watch over Lothiriel Queen, and Lothiriel wondered what everyone was saying about her. She needed a friend, she knew she did, but she had not chosen this friend for herself. It was like school in a way, that she had befriended someone out of necessity and convenience.

“I should make some statement or other of my behavior,” Lothiriel said as they sat together.

Waerhild stared at her confused, “How do you mean, Your Grace?”

“I should have better controlled my temper, and though I have no interest in seeing Lady Leowella again, will she cause some trouble for me, if I do not speak out in some apologetic way?”

“No,” Waerhild scoffed, forgetting her manners, “You acted as any other woman would do. A woman that thinks to take another’s husband should be struck. I know women that would have been far more vicious than you.”

“What would you have done, in my place?”

The goodwife looked thoughtful for a moment before smirking, “If some woman thought to take my man, I would send her a gift and pledge my gratitude.”

Lothiriel let out a laugh, “Oh, hush now.”

“No, I would have kicked her while she was down,” Waerhild admitted, “May I speak freely? I need to offer apologies.”

“Whatever for?”

“I fear that I have been,” Waerhild gave a quick look about the women, and found them all giggling and gossiping, or else minding their children in earnest, “I have meddled in your marriage, but I swear that I meant no harm in it.”

Lothiriel stared at the woman, her pale face downturned and shameful.

“Your… the King had asked advice on your union and I told him that he might do well to concern himself more with your mind, and less with your body.”

“You told him not to…” Lothiriel looked over the women after a moment, “I… why would you think to do that?”

“Because I have known him since we were adolescents, and I know him well, and I did not want to see him make the same mistakes that he had ever made.”

Lothiriel nodded slowly, not entirely certain that she agreed with it, but knowing that it had not been done in any maliciousness, but still it seemed so inappropriate. Was this normal? “What manner of mistakes are those?”

Waerhild took a chuckling breath, “His Majesty is the sort of man that requires affection and encouragement in a relationship. I think he has always sought out some form of affirmation from others, and has sought to find it in romantic entanglements, and has always dove in a little quickly.”

Nodding, Lothiriel considered this. He had been rather forward at the start of their marriage, and it had left her with a strange combination of comfort and unease. He had seemed to be the sort of man who knew what he expected, even if it was not entirely clear to anyone else what that was.

“I only thought to help,” Waerhild said quietly, clearly afraid that she had interfered beyond what was appropriate and felt guilty over any part that she had played in the mess that the last three months had been.

“I appreciate that,” Lothiriel said gently, “though in future I would ask that you speak to me before you make any such suggestions.” It was likely hypocritical of her to say so, and she was distinctly aware of that. Had she not done the same with Leowella? She studied the woman for a moment before smiling and touching her hand, “Do not think on it. In truth, I think I owe you quite a bit.”

Waerhild smiled, though there was still a small measure of nerves in that look. She glanced at the scarf that Lothiriel was mangling.

Lothiriel liked knitting, finding the mobility of it far more preferable to the weaving that she was also trying to learn, but the finer points of it still evaded her somehow, and she felt rather a fool as she held it up in front of her face, studying the strange way that the seemed to flow and ebb. “I doubt there is any way to save this wretched thing,” Lothiriel grumbled, “I should likely pull it apart and try again.”

“You might do,” Waerhild said with mischief, “or you might not…”

“Whatever are you thinking of?”

0x0x0

“Alright, now I know it is likely not my business how you resolved that quarrel,” Eothain said, aware that he might be heading in the right direction to have his head smacked, but he went on, “but… did you…?”

Eomer stared at his friend, noting the knowing look on his face and the smirk he was getting. He let out a groan, knowing that it was in fact better to face this head on, or else he would simply be pestered. “I did.”

Eothain clasped his shoulder, “I told you! Speaking truly is the best course in any marriage, and I am pleased that you have at long last heeded me! How did it go?” Eothain asked, sitting forward and staring, interested.

“Well, in truth, I might have not done it in the best way, but I told her the truth, and the conversation really did flow quite easily from there. But I told her that I loved her and after we spoke a time, she said that she felt the same for me.”

“I told you!” Eothain beamed, “there is little to calm the temper of a woman like saying that you love her! Though you of course know that my position was that you should have had this talk some time ago.”

“Do not start on that, for though my mood is much improved, I would not have it dampened by your insistence of superiority of thought!”

“I should never think to apply such pretenses to myself,” Eothain said, “but I will remind you that I have been a strong ally to the importance of open communication! And you have finally managed that!”

“In my own defense, I had thought that our communication had been clear.”

“Obviously not. What was it that even happened to lead to the argument?”

With a deep and irritable sigh, Eomer began the whole irritating story, watching Eothain’s face twist in sympathy, “What I can hardly sort out is how she thought that she had any right to expect that I would betray my wife for her!”

“Allow me if I may, to take her side, for argument’s sake only, but has it occurred to you that you were never very clear with the ladies in your…” Eothain tried to find a delicate way to explain himself, “You have always had a fondness for women, and usually they returned that fondness, but do you think perhaps you did not always explain what it was that you sought from them?”

“I was never cruel!”

“No, I will grant you, that you always tried to be decent about it… but…”

“But…?”

Eothain wished for a moment that he had waited to have this conversation until he could have had his wife as a witness as she would be able to take his tangled logic and make sense of it, but it was too late for that, “All I mean to say is that there were instances where I was forced to comfort quite a few young women who could not imagine what had happened, or where you had gone.”

“You never said a word!”

“Should I have?” Eothain all but demanded, “In truth I think that if I had said anything about it you would have dismissed my words out right.”

Eomer grimaced, hearing some truth in the words, but not wanting to admit it. He had been a little wild in his youth, and he could admit that now, but he did not like being reminded of it, “Do you think this might happen again?”

“I doubt it. Leowella was always a little too certain of herself, and a little… unhinged these last weeks, if Waerhild is to be believed.”

“In what way?”

“Well, she was far too familiar with the Queen, which Her Grace did not seem to object to, but seemed almost to fish about for news of how your marriage was. It was almost as if she was looking for hints that you might take her back, even as she did not actually want to believe it.”

Eomer considered this, trying to work out a way that he could have Lothiriel make amends with Leowella, but knowing well enough that now was not the time to plead such a case.

He caught sight of their wives, making their way to the hall from the Solar, leaning together and giggling. They seemed to be growing closer, and he was glad of it, though he knew that it might be far too much in his own interest to arrange his wife’s companions. It might avoid such debacles in the future, though he had no intention of being anything other than loyal to his little queen.

Lothiriel’s face lit up as she saw him and made her way with Waerhild up the long stairs to him. Finally making it, her cheeks were flushed from the cold, “My Lord,” she curtsied, almost teasingly in some way and he beamed at her.

“My lady wife,” he took her small, gloved hand in his and kissed it before turning his attention toward Waerhild and the baby she held on her hip, “Is that my godson? How big he is!”

Waerhild shook her head and handed the baby over to Eomer’s outstretched hands, “Might we go inside out of the cold, I do not want Eobrand to take a chill.”

“Indeed,” Eomer agreed, his attention squarely on the baby’s face peering back at him as he made faces at him and was rewarded with a giggle. Once inside, Eomer held Eobrand as his father pulled the layers of swaddling away to reveal the baby’s chubby little body clad in a wool smock. “Oh, look at this tummy! That is a good tummy!” Eomer cried out in an absurdly silly voice before blowing a raspberry against the child's belly.

For a moment, Lothiriel felt a pang of failure as she watched her husband cuddle and play with the baby. Should she not have produced one for him yet? Absentmindedly her hand smoothed over her unchanged stomach as she handed her cloak to Heohild to put away. But it was heartwarming to watch Eomer and Eothain speak over the child, Eothain being of the opinion that he would be a strong one when he was grown and pointing out the dimples in Eobrand’s little knees as the most adorable thing he had ever witnessed and Eomer gave his agreement.

Lothiriel glanced at Waerhild who was in the middle of rolling her eyes at the pair of them before she looked back at Lothiriel with a look that could only be described as weary indulgence.

Eomer looked up at Lothiriel and finally noticed the bundle of cloth under her arm, “What is that?”

“I have made you a scarf!” Lothiriel said, almost embarrassed, presenting the oddly fashioned thing, and staring at her feet.

It was not the best made thing that he had ever seen, but he was touched by the thought, and wondered if she felt ashamed of what he assumed was her first attempt. In truth he was impressed that she had tried at all. Without hesitation, he kissed her brow, and wrapped the thing around his neck, “It is lovely, dear one.”

Lothiriel stared at him with a small strange smile, “I am pleased you like it.”

“I love it, and will wear it proudly,” he glanced at Eothain who was carefully staring at the ceiling, Waerhild pressing close to him, and staring at their child. The pair of them were gits, he decided and turned his attention back to Lothiriel who had looked back to her feet. He turned her face back up to him, “Thank you, love.”

A strangled snort came out of Eothain and Waerhild clasped her hand over his mouth quickly.

“I will try to make another, then if you like it so well,” Lothiriel said, biting back her own laugh.

“Please do!” Eomer grinned at her, wanting to encourage her in any way that he could think of, even if it might make him look a little ridiculous. She would improve in her knitting and he would have something nicer, but for now, he was simply pleased to have something that she had made for him. His hands clasped at her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, only feeling a little awkward that there were witnesses to his affections.

0x0x0

Lothiriel nestled beside him in bed, thoughtfully quiet for a long moment, and he could feel some weight in her, and knew that she would say something that he would need to assure her was not in the least true.

Finally, she spoke, “Are you at all disappointed that I have not gotten with child yet?”

That hadn’t been what he had expected her to say, and stared at her, “No.”

“I know that you like children, and that you want to have them,” she said, the words coming slowly.

“I do, but I would rather have this time to know you better and to build a working marriage before we do have children.”

“What if I became pregnant soon? Would you then be disappointed?”

It was going to be that sort of conversation then, Eomer knew, not one that could be easily finished, but that was based more in her own anxiety. He was not dismissive of her feelings and understood them. Now and then, he had to remind himself how young Lothiriel was.

“Whenever it happens, I will of course be happy. But I would not have you worry over it. We have not been married so long as that, and I am certain it will happen when it is meant to.”

“But-”

He ran a thumb over her lip, quieting her, “Your King has spoken,” he teased, “what put this in your mind?”

“I know that there are certain expectations…”

“I know it is hard to do, but I would have you disregard any such expectations, and hear me.”

Lothiriel studied his face for a long moment, “Then you do not want to try for a child now?”

“I do not recall saying that at all!” Eomer turning suddenly.

“No, clearly you are not concerned of such matters at all,” Lothiriel teased, rolling away from him.

It struck him the way that her moods changed with the smallest and most mild of assurances. She would seem so burdened by duty and responsibility but at the slightest encouragement that she was not some dreadful failure, she would take him at his word and play and demure and hint.

“Oh, I am very concerned,” Eomer murmured against her shoulder, “the fate of the nation hangs in the very balance.”

She swatted at his leg, stifling a giggle as he nipped at her shoulder, and up her neck. There was the slightest pressure on her earlobe as he pulled at it with his lips gently before his teeth mirrored the gesture, sending a quick heat through her.

His hands slid down over her waist and her hips savoring the gentle give of her soft flesh under her nightgown, and then pinching her gently as he pulled her back against him. He ground his hips gently against her backside and smirked to himself as her thighs rubbed together. He gathered her nightgown up inch by inch, bunching the fabric up in his fist as he went.

Lothiriel twisted in his arms, and snatched at him, clinging to him and pressing herself close to him, pulling herself on top of him with rough and awkward movements, blushing as he chuckled under her. “What is it?” she asked, wondering if she had put him off with her inexperienced gesture. She had done this before, but still felt a little too aware of her limbs.

“You are rather forceful is all, love,” he smoothed his hand over her face, ensure that she looked at him rather that turning her face away out of an embarrassment that had been forced into her subconscious her entire life. He needed to break her of that as far as he was able and seemed to be succeeding in small measures “I like it,” he assured her.

Her head tilted a little, pressing into his hand, absorbing his words, smirking a little as she pulled her nightgown over her head and discarded it. Her fingers curled a little at the side of his neck, leaning down to him, kissing and nipping at his lips, her hands trailing over his arms and over his chest. There was some softness over the muscles of his abdomen, but not much. As she touched him, she felt the muscles tensing under his skin, the smallest flutter, almost unconscious.

His hands caught at her face, and her neck, twisting into her hair and tugging a little, pulling her lips from his, and guiding her up further. She didn’t struggle against his silent instruction, giving him access to her throat and to her breasts, his hands holding her in place over him as he laved open mouthed kisses over her breasts, all tongue and teeth testing her flesh.

Her hands clung to the headboard, trying to anchor herself, for she was suddenly terrified that she would go boneless under his attention and simply fall on top of him. He had kissed over her body before, but this seemed different, somehow, sloppy and yet focused. His tongue swirled at one of her nipples, wringing a sigh out of her that twisted into a different sound as he bit down gently. He repeated the attentions over the other, and her hands tightened in their hold, she glanced down at him, wondering what he looked like and met his gaze as he studied her with that wild, predatory look that she had seen a few times now. It always sent a thrill through her, and she wondered how she looked to him.

“I am yours,” he whispered, a growl at the very edges of his voice, “and am at your disposal, darling.” His fingers trailed over the small of her back, light butterfly touches that seemed counter to the way that he was looking at her, at least what she could see of him. Her night vision rendered him as a dark underpainting, all splotchy plains and poorly defined boundaries that came slowly into focus as her eyes adjusted.

For a moment, she hesitated, knowing what she wanted to do, but not entirely certain that he would like her for it. But then he had said that he liked her forcefulness, so she smiled a little, pressing her hand against his shoulder and pushing him back as she had the last time they had been in this position, her other hand reaching between them, and feeling for him under his breeches, and feeling the hardening manhood under the thin cloth. It was easier to remove the garment now, having a basic understanding of how to go about such things, and not feeling as embarrassed about it as she had used to.

On his part, Eomer simply lay back, watching her with a sense of relaxed interest. She had normally looked away from that part of him, and he had never given it much thought, but when she did look, it was as if she was making some careful note to herself about some specimen that she had discovered. Her hand on his cock almost sent him, but he continued to watch her as she stroked a little cautiously as if she had never done this before.

“You will not harm me if you were a little less delicate,” he said after a moment, and took as his reward the look of almost shock that she gave him. He shouldn’t have laughed, and as soon as he did, he worried that she would pull away from him, pull her nightdress back on and decide that she wanted to sleep more than she wanted to be called out for her ignorance.

But instead, she tightened her grip a little and tried again, watching his eyes slide shut as she did, and the stifled murmurs that poured out of him. She had done that to him. It has always been there, the duty to please him in whatever form was appropriate at the time, but the pride that came with this was different. It was not so much bound by duty as that affection that had newly been named in her mind and in her heart.

A sudden sort of impatience came over her and she released him, smirking a little at the way his head shot up off the pillow to look at her. She took that moment and stored it away in her mind somewhere to amuse her later, but now she climbed over him carefully and kissed him again before her hand reclaimed him and she slid herself onto him slowly, smirking as his hands slid up her thighs to her hips, clearly meaning to hurry her. She snatched his wrists and pulled them away from her and pinning them back by his shoulders as she pressed herself flush against him.

He could pull free from her easily, she knew, but he lay obediently under her grasp, clearly not minding this in the least. His hips moved instinctively under hers as she began to shift against him, and she tried to check herself, remembering how quickly it had been over the last time. She moved her hips back and forth against him, feeling the way that he filled her, and the slow building of pleasure as she moved. She leaned against him as the sensations built in her, still clinging to his wrists, something about denying him the right to touch her thrilling her.

Eomer pressed his face against her shoulder, taking what he could, murmuring and groaning. He bit her shoulder trying to muffle himself a little. He was close but he wanted to hold out as long as he could.

She leaned back, sitting upright and pulled one of his wrists, guiding his hand to her sex, silently begging him to do that thing to her. Asking him outright entered her mind, but she was not quite ready to speak to him when they did this. He had assured her that there was nothing wrong with the act, but her own misgivings she prickled in the distance.

He thumbed at her, urging her on, and soon enough she was toppling over, her core tensing and sending her over the edge. He stilled, letting her collect herself for a few moments before he pressed his lips to her ear, “May I?”

Lothiriel peered at him in confusion before remembering that he was still inside of her, and she almost laughed. She moved a little more roughly against him, and she was still sensitive enough that it almost gave her another release before he finished, arching up against her, his entire body straining as he did.

She stayed on him, watching him with a small smile, watching his face twist up beautifully.

Rolling off of him with a grin at the choked sound that he emitted, she rested her chin against his chest, watching him.

Having finally caught his breath and feeling rather silly for he had not put in much toil, he looked at her and her catlike grin. He let out an inquisitive sound, not having found his words yet.

“Do you like that?” Lothiriel asked, intrigued by the idea that her powerful king and husband would enjoy being used in such a way, that he would submit to anything, let alone his wife.

He nodded a vaguely coherent sound coming from his throat, a weary effort as he tried to wrap an arm around her, and roll into her arms, but found himself flailing a little gracelessly.

Lothiriel giggled, pulling herself free to use the night pot and wash herself as best as she could manage, leaving her husband grumbling for her to return to him. If she moved, he would have to find his legs and follow after her and he was not ready to move yet. He only wanted another moment of uninterrupted bliss to savor the complete release of tension in his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and support, guys! It seriously means the world to me that my little stories are so appreciated!
> 
> I'm currently working out the plot going forward, and am considering going with a pretty episodic sort of fic going forward (similar to another story I have for these two, and maybe using some of the same plot points that I have in "The Rest of Their Lives") but who knows. 
> 
> That's the fun thing about fanfiction. It's not really bound by the usual storytelling structures that traditional writing is. Or I might turn this into a series. I haven't decided. I really shouldn't be in charge of anything ever!


	16. Chapter 16

Nothing made Eomer seriously consider packing up his personal affects and tell Lothiriel to do the same so that they could disappear into the open country more than the way that Fulgar and Almod would bicker with each other over the simplest matter. He wondered absentmindedly if their quarreling was the side effect of bottled contempt that they had not been able to slay at each other’s feet while Theoden had been unable to hold council meetings. He had never witnessed what the meetings had been like in the dark days where Wormtongue had usurped control of the government but guess that it would have included his two chief advisors glaring at each other and silently calling each other names.

He had kept The King’s Council rather the same as his uncle had left it, not entirely certain that he had the energy to sort out greater minds for the charge. These moments made him wonder if the Worm had been as cunning as assumed, for if someone came to him and said that he could make the council stop with this nonsense, he would have taken them on without any trace of hesitation or questioning.

It was his plan to take whatever recommendations that was given over this issue of funds to Lothiriel before he decided, having realized soon after their marriage that she was better trained to governing than he was. He had tried to consider the running of his country to be the same as running Aldburg, but on a larger scale, and likely would have managed it if not for the whining of his council.

“The taxes cannot be collected if there is no money to give!” Almod snapped back, returning Eomer’s concentration to the task at hand.

“And if my good lord with recall,” Fulgar leaned over the table, jabbing a finger at him, “I have acknowledged your point and asked if you might have some other solution. Though I know you are far more of a disposition to construct withering retorts than you are of actually solving problems!”

There was a low ooh sound as if they were children in the street who had simply heard the greatest teasing insult over someone’s mother.

Eomer rubbed at his temple, deciding that today was the day that he would try to become a farmer.

“My point, my lord,” Almod returned, “Is that there seems to be no goodly solution beyond letting it sit, and hope that the efforts of rebuilding pay off in the future!”

Lothiriel had been of the opinion that they would, having shown him in her ledger, and boasting her margin of error. He smiled a little to himself, not wanting to bring her into this. A few of the lords seemed grateful of her help, but in the pandering way of old men, considering her service best done when it was not in fact discussed.

“Then your solution would be inaction,” Fulgar leaned back on his heels, “I had not realized that your house had done so well in siring laze-abouts who simply twiddle their thumbs!”

“And I had not realized that your family sired bloated pigs! But look here, they have sent us one fully dressed and able to speak!”

Eomer pressed a fist over his mouth, and tried to look displeased by this exchange, and to not laugh. He could not laugh, no matter how amusing he found the insult.

Almod went on as soon as the chuckles died, a furious fire burning in his belly, “If we had been able to ask for a greater dowry from Dol Amroth we might be able to claim a greater treasury, but the pittance we received has been spent already!”

The room stilled, and no one dared say a word, not even Fulgar who glanced sideways at Eomer’s reddening face.

“Then you would have me return my wife and demand more money to keep her?” Eomer asked, his voice a dangerously low tone.

“Of course not, sire, forgive me,” Almod said, carefully, “But my point stands. We are not in so much danger of ruin as Lord Fulgar would have us believe and any act he would call forth would only deplete the treasury further. It is the middle of winter, and we will not have a better grasp of our position when we can count our crops and see what the trade markets will give for them.”

“And while we wait, a good number of our citizens continue living as refugees in borrowed housing,” Fulgar said, his tone a little more reasonable having taken the moment to calm himself, “I do not claim that we should trek out into the snow to plant more, but we must have some solution in hand before the good families that host the refugees find that they no longer can!”

“Are we not already sending supplementary foods to those hosts?” Eomer asked, shifting through his pages, looking for the numbers, “Yes, I have here, we send a pound of grain a week for each person, and assorted root vegetables to be given as well.”

“It is depleting our surplus!”

“That is the very reason we have a surplus,” Eomer said, repeating Lothiriel's assurances, “or am I mistaken?”

Lothiriel knocked gently at the door frame and curtsied as the men all turned to look at her, “I beg your pardon, my lords, but there is a matter that requires the King’s attention as soon as he is at liberty.”

There was a crumpling about the council table, as the men who had stood for their Queen knew Eomer would take the excuse to leave.

Eomer looked about the table, “I will look over the books, and see where we stand for now. If you are so terribly concerned, Lord Fulgar, I would see an actual plan from you, rather than insults bandied about for your own amusements. That goes for all of you. Put something together by tomorrow. We are adjourned,” He glowered a little to fully make the point that he had little time for this political gaming that they all seemed so fond on and left the table with his normal thundering air.

Lothiriel backed into the corridor, careful not to look at any of the lords of the council, certain that one of them would catch her eye and take that as some weakness, an assurance that she would hear them on whatever it was that they were plotting. There were times that such things were appropriate, but this did not feel like one of them. It would be better to let them stew in the silent fear of Eomer’s rage for a while.

She followed him along to his study, knowing that none of the lords would feel brave enough to knock on the door for at least a few hours, and bolted the door behind her as Eomer went to pour himself a few fingers of mead, turning to offer her some and pouring her one as well. She unpinned her veil from her hair and set it by the decanter and accepted the cup he held out to her.

Eomer dropped a kiss on her cheek, “Thank you for the rescue, dearest,” he mumbled, falling into the seat at his desk, and rubbing at his neck, “I swear, I am well prepared for any offspring, for managing that lot is alike to wrangling a batch of ornery toddlers.”

She giggled coming over to set her cup down on his desk and rub his shoulders. The muscles in his shoulders were all coiled and tense, the poor dear.

Eomer relaxed under her careful hands, murmuring his gratitude for her. After a moment of quiet relaxation, he asked, “What was it you needed, love?” he leaned his head back to look up at her.

“Oh, nothing,” she smiled, “I simply thought to steal you away.”

“That was very naughty of you,” he smirked, thankful that she had, and making it clear that he was. He caught one of her hands and kissed it tenderly, trailing his lips over her wrist.

“Well… there was something now that you mention it,” she said in a low voice, gently wriggling free of him, and sorting his papers and notes into a neat little pile and setting them to one side, “If you were not otherwise occupied, I suppose I would not be entirely displeased with some of your attentions…”

“My assent would depend on what manner of attention you had in mind,” Eomer leaned back in his seat, watching her with a look of pure innocence, as if he could not recognize that look in her eyes by now.

Lothiriel bit her lip a little nervously but having had the fantasy a few times now was rather keen to have it fulfilled. He had made it clear that he liked it when she was bold and took what she wanted of him. But she was of a mind to have him take her now, wanting his passion and strength turned on her, and was not entirely certain how to put that desire to words, fearing that any way that she might say it would sound like an insult.

She stepped carefully around him and hoisted herself up on his desk, ignoring the voice in her mind that told her that this was out of the bounds of acceptable behavior, even as she pulled her skirts up a little, letting one of her feet swing in the open air between them.

“My lady!” he said in a low, mock-astonished voice, tracing his fingers over her thighs, smirking to himself at the feel of velvet under his fingertips, “I cannot imagine what you think of me, that I would engage in such things here, of all places…”

“In that case, I will let you get back to your work,” Lothiriel teased, beginning to drop her skirts, a feat that she could not quite manage for the quick way that Eomer stood, and pressed his hands over hers, holding them against the desk’s top.

He studied her, smiling wolfishly, his eyes glinting at this new game and endeavoring to enjoy it, “You stay as you are, little princess.” His hand caught her throat and her jaw, pulling her head back a little to accept his kiss, a rough exchange of tongues and teeth that left her breathless when he pulled back from her and undid the front of her dress, ignoring the small ripping sounds as he went, though he did give a quick glance to ensure he hadn’t done too much damage, and away a little relieved that it was only an eyelet voicing its protests over the way that it was being shifted, a small tear and easily mended.

He couldn’t have her leaving his study in the middle of the day with her dress torn open. No one would think a thing of it, likely, but he would rather not test their luck and the quiet acceptance of their private life.

Her eyes were a bit hazy as she looked back at him, biting her lip again and breathing heavily. She shifted forward on the desk, trying to wrap her legs around his hips and pull him closer to her, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip, holding her firmly in place, and smirked at the whine she gave him.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her throat, deciding that he wanted to play with her a little longer. He wanted to wring every bit of pleasure out of her that he could. Pushing her dress down off of her shoulders, he cupped one of her small breasts, kneading it gingerly and thumbing at it, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she murmured back, her voice already sounding a little ragged.

He hummed against her ear, “Specifics, if you please.”

Her mind, which was already cloudy went blank for a moment. She could not think of how to describe a single thing that she had ever imagined him doing to her without giving up whatever dignity she might have in this situation. She knew what she wanted in the vague terms of her own imagination but could not think of how to voice it.

He tugged her hair, making her look at him, and she was on the point of telling him to keep up what he was doing now, but was aware somehow that was not what he wanted her to say. “Tell me,” he said, his face composed and revealing nothing, but there still was that glint in his eye.

She swallowed, deciding to go ahead and say it, “I want you to possess me, and use me as you see fit.”

Even if he had guessed that she might like the way he was handling her, hearing her say it was different somehow, and he smirked at her, watching her flush at the notion of it, at having put it to words. He crouched in front of her, pushing her shirts higher on her thighs, and pulling her closer to the edge of the desk, aware of her hands grasping at the smooth surface and trying to keep her balance. He hooked one of her knees in his hand and kissed the inside of it, breathing the scent of her clean skin and trailing a long line of kisses up her thigh, pulling that knee over her shoulder.

She tried to watch him but could not quite bend right as his head disappeared under her skirts. She shifted a little, but his hand caught her hip again, and forced her to still. She could feel his breath against her sex and was not sure of what she should expect him to do. Was he going to kiss her there before he took her, or was he simply ensuring that she was ready? The first swipe of his tongue surprised her, and she started before that hand’s grip held her firmly in her place, not letting her move an inch.

He shouldered her other knee, and she rocked back a little, one of her hands spreading behind her on the desk as his mouth worked her over. She had meant to be quiet, and was trying to be, biting back against every instinctive noise that gathered in her throat as he lapped and sucked at her. A single throaty whimper broke out of her as her hips tried to buck against him, and in response he his hand tightened against her hip, making her wrench all the more against him and his mouth. That abyss of ecstasy swallowed her, and her vision went white for a moment and she could distantly hear herself crying out against the hand that she had clasped over her mouth.

When he stood up again, she was gasping and glowing, laying back on the desk, limp and flushed. She was a pretty sight, staring at him from under hooded eyes, a crooked smile on her face as she rolled her head back for a moment of air.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he took her in and wondered how long he should let her rest, to collect herself, or if he should just keep things going, but that might render her mind as cohesive as a jelly. With that thought and a slow smile as she looked back at him, grinning, he undid the front of his trousers, and snatched her by the knee, dragging her off the desk. He was careful to catch her in his arms in case she lost her footing and kissed her again.

She could taste herself on his lips and his tongue and flushed harder at all of it, wondering why on earth she had never done this before. When he withdrew from her, she found herself still leaning into him, and looked up at him, trying to guess what he might do next, but also wickedly enjoying the fact that she had given herself entirely over to him.

He turned her from him, and bent her over the desk, giving her a moment to reorient, or to push back, but she practically purred at it and he bit back a chuckle as he pulled her skirts back up and pressed himself into her, checking her for any sign of discomfort, but finding none. All he could see of her was beaming satisfaction.

He pinned her against the desk with his body for a moment to kiss her cheek and nuzzle against her, “I love you so, my darling.” He brushed his fingers against her hair, knowing it would be a mess when he was done with her, and hoping, in the part of his mind that controlled such thoughts, that she would not scold him too terribly for it later.

“I love you, Eomer,” she whispered back, peering at him as best as she could from their current positioning.

He smiled at her for a moment before twisting his hand into her hair and pulling just a little and listening to her mewling affirmation as he pounded into her. She was so sweet and tight, and he made a note to himself that he would have her steal him away from his meetings more often, as this seemed a far better way to spend an afternoon. With a little difficulty, he wormed his hand under her hips, his fingers finding their mark as he rubbed against her pearl and took in the quick intake of breath as she squirmed under him.

“Do you like that, dear?” he asked, ramming against her with renewed vigor.

“Yes,” she whined, trying to move back against him, but he twisted the hand in her hair a little, and her knuckles paled as she gripped at the front of the desk, whimpering out gleefully, “yes, yes…” her words turned over to Sindarin, and he knew a little of the language, but not enough to make sense of her broken gasping sounds. She clenched and fluttered around him, and he slowed his pace a little, savoring every bit of it and locking it all away in his memory for later.

He leaned back over her, and nipped at her ear, and heard her breathy chuckle as her hand reached back to pull at his hair, to get some grip on him. He let her for a moment before snatching her hand away and planting it back on the desk, holding her firmly in place before he began moving again.

When he was spent, he collapsed on top of her, gulping in air and only remembering at the last to lift himself off of her a little. He stood after a moment, and watched her roll onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her hand pressed flat over her heart. Taking to opportunity, he dropped over her again and bit at one of her breasts playfully. He hadn’t managed to avoid the gentle slap she gave his head, but he grinned at her and kiss the already fading mark that his teeth had left.

“Was it too much?” he asked, feeling more pleased with himself than he likely had any right to.

Lothiriel shook her head at him, and tried to sit up, still looking a little dazed, but no worse for wear. She smoothed a hand over her hair absentmindedly and smiled at him, “It was perfect.”

He felt a little prouder at that and was lacing his trousers back up carefully before he looked back at her. She swayed forward a little and rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapping around him. He held her for a long moment and kissed the top of her messy hair, turning her face up to him with his fingertips to look at her flushed face. He rubbed his nose against hers for a moment before resting his brow against the top of her head.

She pulled back finally and tried to lace up the front of her dress, all fingers and thumbs as she tried, giggling to herself as she gave up the task and let Eomer do it for her.

“I do not think I have ever seen you in such a state as this,” he teased her gently as he fixed her dress for her.

“You are usually so careful with me,” she murmured back, "not to say that I have any complaints, but you needn't always take such care."

“I will mind that in the future,” he replied tying the laces off and tucking them out of sight, “It seems you are tougher than I thought.”

She murmured an affirmation and sat there looking at him with a silly sort of smile, before taking his face in her hands and kissing him, a long and sweet kiss that made him weak. She stroked her thumbs over his cheeks, “I should get back.”

“Where is it you are meant to be?”

“With my women. I told them that I needed to discuss some tax issue with you that had slipped my mind.”

“You might want to be sure you do not forget your veil, if you mean to keep that lie even remotely believable, though I doubt that would do it.”

Lothiriel’s eyes widened and she ran a hand over the back of her hair, “I forgot!”

He laughed, the loud uninhibited sound that echoed in the room, “I doubt anyone will hold it against you in the least.”

“Do you think anyone heard us?”

“I do not care a pin,” Eomer admitted, still chuckling at her, “the worst that they can say is that we clearly enjoy each other’s company too much, and I will fight anyone that would think to say that we should be ashamed of that.”

She shook her head and climbed down from the desk, a few locks of her hair trailing behind her, “at least come and try to help me fix my hair!”

“As you bid, my lady,” he smiled after her, following in her steps. He loved her hair, and loved playing with it, and considered detaining her further, but could not decide yet if he should try for another round.

She wobbled a little as she walked, as if she was still trying to get her bearings.

He had wrecked her and should have felt in some way ashamed of his minor loss of control, but then, she had enjoyed every second of it, so he would not be made to feel anything but pleased at her state. He hadn’t ripped her dress off, even if he had considered it, and so should be lauded for his restraint. He might look through her wardrobe and find something older that she might not miss if he were to tear it to shreds. That seemed a good enough plan for now.

Lothiriel unbolted the door and took his arm still a little weak in her knees, oblivious to the two maids that went tearing down the hall, their hands over their stifled giggles as they searched for some way to hide themselves. She leaned against his arm, beaming to herself and still glowing.

He wondered if she thought she could hide that look and wanted to see how she might think to do so. He might follow her to the Solar with some pretense of discussion and take stock of the other women and the way that they would all look between each other. In truth, he thought he might be able to avoid his council members in doing so and was more than eager for that opportunity alone. He would find some way to be helpful to her and did not quite want to be parted from her yet.

Eomer wondered if he looked rather like a puppy following eagerly after her, and if that was one of the causes for the jokes that his fellows liked to lay on him. He didn’t mind the jokes, knowing that they were not said in malice and were close enough to the truth, anyway. He would give her the world if she asked for it and wouldn’t ask a single question.

0x0x0

In the quiet privacy of his study, Faramir opened the letter, expecting the typical banalities that Lothiriel sent to her kin, assuring them that she was well, without detailing how she felt beyond that, or anything of substance that should ensure that she was in fact well. He thought himself fortunate, for she disclosed more to him than her father or their aunt, it seemed, meager as that abundance was.

He scanned over the letter trying to prepare himself for seeking out something that he could respond to in his next letter to her, and as he looked at the tear-stained parchment, his eyes widened. He had to read through the letter three times, just to make sense of it. Standing up almost violently, he stormed to The High Queen’s Solar, checking himself before he entered the room and doing his best to compose himself. He found his wife gossiping with Queen Arwen.

He bowed, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, might I borrow my wife for a moment?”

The women looked at each other, smirking at his disheveled appearance and wondering what had so put him out.

“Of course,” Queen Arwen smiled politely watching Eowyn stand, curtsy and trail after her husband with a backwards look that promised to tell whatever it was that had happened.

As she followed Faramir back to his study, she eyed the page in his hand and wondered what on earth could be so troublesome to drag her away from what he considered an appropriate use of her time. In truth, she rather liked the Queen, and was rather thankful of her friendship as it had hushed a few of the other society dames who still regarded Eowyn was some wild barbarian who should not be trusted not to burn their houses down after ransacking them.

“Word from the Mark?” She asked, as soon as he closed the door and held the letter out to her.

He nodded grimly,

“What have our most endearing fools done now?” The absolutely ridiculous letters that had been coming from Eomer and Lothiriel were the peak of her entertainment of late, even if it was in the completely different ways that they wrote of their marriage.

He stared at her for a moment longer, bidding her take it, and becoming more irritated at her hesitance to do so. He all but hurled it at Eowyn and set about to pace through his rage.

Eowyn’s brow raised at the silent anger and uncrumpled the letter to read through it.

“ _My Dearest Cousin,_

_I write to you with a heavy heart, and a desperate request of confidence from you._

_My marriage has taken a turn, and I know no other soul that I might trust to offer me council on this matter. I have lost my lord’s favor, and have no idea how I should reclaim it, or if I should even attempt such a thing yet._

_Is it better to allow such extramarital dalliances to run their courses?_

_I have told my lord husband that I will accept whatever arrangements he would seek to make, and in that have given my solemn assurances that I am as ever his servant, even if I am no longer the lady that occupies his bed._

_No word or assurance seems to please him, and I do not know what I am meant to do in this case._

_I beg you to keep this matter secret, and speak to no one of it, as the dishonor of it alone would cause more disturbance than it is likely worth._

_As ever, your loving cousin_

_Lothiriel”_

There was no flourish, nor her usual signature, or her title, simply a short letter that seemed hastily written, as if she had feared being discovered in the writing of it, the words were tear-streaked and wild in their shaping.

Eowyn stared at the letter in horrified silence.

Having had a few more moments to compose himself, or try to, Faramir rested his hands on the back of his chair, and leaned forward, “I know that you love your brother, but I will kill him for this.”

“It cannot be as simple as that!” Eowyn said, “I have never in my life known Eomer to be so faithless as this!”

“Power does strange things to a man,” he scoffed, “and if he means to drag my cousin through the embarrassment of some public affair, I will see him with swords drawn!”

“We agreed not to interfere,” Eowyn said, trying to calm her husband before he did some rash thing. He was usually such a measured man, but this news seemed to stoke an anger in him that she had never witnessed. For now, they needed to keep this quiet, until they could sort out what it was that had happened, and what steps needed to be taken to mend the situation if it was as Lothiriel had written.

“Do you think then that I should sit by as a lady who is as a sister to me is treated in such a way?”

She folded the letter over, carefully following the creases in the parchment, “I will go to Edoras, and make sense of this, and see what needs to be done.”

“It is the middle of winter!” Faramir called at her, “A blizzard is tearing through to the north, and I will not have you riding out into that!”

“It will have passed by tomorrow and that in truth gives all the more reason,” she scoffed, “I know the houses that I will be able to stay at on my way. He is my fool of a brother, and if they are quarreling and are snowed in together, then they may kill each other! I will go, and use the forthcoming Yule festivities as an excuse, for at least my approach might not be seen as an act of war!”

Faramir crossed his arms over his chest, pacing again, knowing that he’d have better luck telling the rain to stop falling than he would convincing Eowyn to go against her own decision. She probably just wanted to get away from court while she had a reason to. He did not want to admit that her reasoning was sound though, or that he had been so quick to defend his cousin’s honor that for a moment he forgot his duties to his country, “Fine, but you will tell me what if happening as soon as you are able.”

“Of course,” she soothed him with the assurance, wanting to figure out what her clod-headed brother had done now.

She did not want to believe Lothiriel’s letter, nor did she want to dismiss her feelings, but this seemed so out of character for Eomer. His last letter had been full of his pitiful attempts at poetics, expounding on the beauty and tenderness of his wife. That had been only two weeks before. It seemed unlikely to her that he would be so suddenly changed and would have taken up a mistress. If he had, he would have admitted it, or at least made some excuse, claiming that the marriage was a miserable one or something of the sort, but there had not been even a hint of unhappiness.

None of it made any sense, but she would get to the bottom of this as soon as she could.

0x0x0

Eomer trailed his fingers over her hip, smiling to himself as Lothiriel dosed peacefully against his chest. They had fallen asleep in front of the fire, and eventually he knew that he would need to scoop her up in his arms and deposit them both in their bed, but not yet. For now, he was content to watch the way that the fire lit her golden-brown skin.

It had been a long day, and he took comfort in the simple intimacy of this moment. It had been a Audience Day, where the people could apply to have their case heard and ruled over by King’s Justice, and Lothiriel had attended the proceedings with him, and seemed genuinely interested in the cases brought before them. At least there had been fewer due to the inclement weather, but he knew that in the warmer months there would be at least a few days a month dedicated to this service. Lothiriel had asked if there was some way that she might read over the laws of the land to familiarize herself with them, as if she needed another project to take on.

He pulled a blanket over her naked body, wanting to ensure that she was warm and cozy as she slept, even as she shifted a leg free from the covering, and skimming it over his, nestling closer. A smile warmed his face, and he counted his blessings looking at her face. His sweet, beautiful wife was the best of all blessings he had, and he would do anything to keep her like this.

There was a faint bruise on her thigh from where he had snatched her a little too roughly in a passion, and he ran his thumb gently over the mark frowning to himself. Lothiriel had assured him that she hadn’t minded, and that it hadn’t hurt her in the least, but still he felt a little like a brute. The fear that he would hurt her had not quite left him, even if it seemed she liked the wild side of him, and that fear curled deeper in him. He would try to be more careful with her in future.

She shifted a little and he looked back at her face quickly to see her still sleeping and the chastising he had been giving himself creaked to a halt as he looked at her again.

The charge of braiding her hair had escaped him and now it fell about her shoulders in a thick tangled haze of darkness, framing her face. A part of him wished that she would wear her hair down more regularly, but another was glad that he was the only one that ever saw it loose like this.

He could stay like this forever, he thought, and not miss much. It was a sentimental notion, and he knew that in truth it was not true. In another few minutes he would likely be itching to move from the floor. The furs were comfortable enough, but they did little to combat the ache that the floors were building in his back and in his knee. He was getting older and hated the fact that the years of hard living were beginning to catch up to his body. It was tolerable yet, though in perhaps ten years he knew he would be grumbling just to get up from the ground.

He was already getting antsy just being kept indoors through the winter, and at the first sight of spring meant to go on a patrol just to get out of the city and stretch his legs. That was something he would need to discuss with her at some point and hoped that she would see the sense in it more than telling him to mind his own safety. She fretted so.

Lothiriel shifted in her sleep, and looked up at him with a sleepy smile, “My apologies,” she murmured, nuzzling against him as she woke.

Without reminding her that she had nothing to apologize for, he stooped his head and kiss her brow, “We should get to bed before we cannot manage it,” he said quietly, doing his best to stand, his back already making its protests clear at having been lain on the floor so long. He groaned a little as he stood and stretched.

“Come along, old man,” Lothiriel teased over her shoulder, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, letting loose a giggle at the cold look he shot her.

“Old man, indeed,” he grumbled, scrambling after her, meaning to snatch her up and show her that he was still young and fit enough for that, but she was a little quicker than he was and bounded up in the bed, clearly thinking that it was a safe haven from whatever vengeance he would think to take from her. He clamored up after her and caught her about the waist as she tried to escape.

“No!” she squealed, trying to get free as he pinned her under his weight.

“I am not old,” he chuckled against her hair, “admit that you have spoken falsely.”

“Fine! You are perfectly young and spry, now release me.”

“I cannot for you are on my arms,” he retorted and smiled at the scoff she gave.

When they had finally negotiated the terms of her release, she sat in quiet contentment, letting him comb and part her hair to braid it for sleep. She couldn’t rightly remember where her nightdress had ended up and was not entirely of a disposition to seek it out, so she sat at her vanity in full view of her husband, applying her lotions and creams as Eomer managed her hair. She caught sight of his smiling face and considered how strange it was that he liked doing this, even when she was properly dressed.

She had moved past her nerves about her body a bit more quickly than she would have thought possible. If anyone had told her before her wedding that she would have no trouble walking about in the nude in front of her husband, she would have called them a liar. He seemed to find her beautiful in truth, and though the sight of her unclothed did seem to light a fire in his blood, he did not always take her nudity as an invitation, seeming to think that their natural state was just that; natural.

She wondered if her letters had gotten to Minas Tirith yet, if there had been a breath of relief when the second had come, or if Lady Eowyn had already written some scathing reply and sent it off. In that case she would simply say that she had forgotten all about it, having been half mad in her rage, and would rectify it at once.

If nothing came of her foolishness, then all the better, for she would not need to make any amends and could keep her mistake to herself.

Eomer tugged at her braid as soon as it was done and climbed back into their bed, turning down the covers and ready for sleep. He held his wife and nuzzled against the top of her hair as she settled beside him to sleep, her little body fitting so perfectly in his holding that he wondered if there was not some divine plan after all.

0x0x0

Lothiriel looked up from her knitting with a smirk as all the women stood to curtsy to their king, “My lord, you do honor us,” she offered her hand, which Eomer gladly took and kissed.

“Might I sit with you for a while?” he asked, his hand folded behind his back.

“Yes, of course, but you must make yourself useful in some way, either helping me, or managing the children.” She raised a brow at him, and picked up a coil of yarn, making it clear which of the options she would rather him choose.

Eomer sat beside her on the window seat, holding his hands out to have her drape the yarn over his hands so that it would not tangle as she wound it.

“Have your lords been bullying you again?” she asked, smiling to himself.

“Oh, aye. If I do not hide from them, he will likely attack me.”

“I think they will be too distracted as they take bets on whether Fulgar or Almod would win the brawl that would break out.”

“Who would you favor?”

“I could never lay a wager ons such a thing, or favor one over the other…” she demurred, “but I suspect that Fulgar would win, but Almod would use it to turn the other lords against him.”

“An Eorlinga would never willingly forsake a fight!”

“Then how is it that you, their lord and king are hiding here among the women?”

Eomer’s face fell, “That is different. I am trying my hand at diplomacy, as you have said I ought to.”

“I see,” she smiled at him, binding off one ball, and tossing it into her little basket before plucking up another twist of yarn and putting it over his hands, “What was it this time?”

“In truth, I have forgotten what the problem was that we would have been solving because the gang of geezers refuse to behave and direct all conversations toward tearing each other down.”

“Perhaps it would be better to ask them to retire then, and replace them with some fresh blood.”

“I would, but it might be seen as an insult. They are both knowledgeable, but they also keep cornering me to apologize for the behavior of the other.” He glanced at her, “I had considered abdicating and claiming you as my heir. We would not need to move, but you are far more adept at ruling, and they might heed you.”

“Oh, yes, I am certain the old guard of your council will gladly bow to the order of a foreign queen.”

“You are not a foreign queen,” Eomer’s face darkened a little, “You are _my_ queen, and a citizen of the Riddermark.”

“I know that, darling, but you know that is what people will say.”

“Are you still so concerned over that? You are already beloved by our people, you know. The farmers have been singing your praises.”

“The crops have not even come up yet!”

“No, but still, I hear that they thank you for saving the Westfold.”

Lothiriel scoffed, trying to work out what she had done to deserve such praises. She was not sure if she should mention that she knew there were some that were less pleased by her foreign birth but knew that speaking of it would only anger Eomer and he would demand to know who had spoken so. He would likely go into the country and put the heads of any such people on pikes and carry them about with him as a warning to anyone who thought to speak so poorly of his wife.

It seemed that he was rather protective of her, as if she needed it. A few of the other ladies had trailed awkwardly up to her and congratulated her on her right hook, inferring that they had written to their friends and family that she was far more fearsome than they had anticipated, and that any that meant to cross her should think twice on that score.

“They had best get used to taking your orders, as you will have all power of regency whenever I am not in Edoras.”

Her face clouded at that, knowing it was true, but not wanting to think about him leaving for any reason. She was too comfortable with him and was not certain what she was meant to do if he left her.

Caelon’s head shot up suddenly and he stood, pointing for a moment as if he sensed something, and Lothiriel wondered if he smelled a lady dog that he wanted to get at, or a rabbit, but suddenly he bounded over to the door, barking.

“What on earth has gotten into him?” Eomer grumbled, slipping the last short bit of yarn from his hands and standing. He picked his way carefully around the children to look through the window resting his hand on a few heads to guide them from underfoot.

Lothiriel twisted off the ball of yarn and followed after Eomer, wondering if he would turn Caelon loose and let him do whatever it was he needed to, a few of the other women doing the same, “What is it?”

Eomer grinned back at her, “A surprise!” He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders and tucked the scarf around his neck as he left the Solar, “Sister!”

A cold knot formed in the pit of Lothiriel’s stomach and she considered leaping out through the window on the other side of the structure and running away before she had to face her own mistake. She was vaguely aware of the flurry of ladies around her, exclaiming joyfully as they took in the news.

Taking a deep breath, Lothiriel put on her cloak and went to meet her husband’s sister, trying to prepare herself for a fight or at the very least for a very uncomfortable conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, all, a quick heads up for the next chapter. It's not so much going to be angsty as Eomer is going to get some of Lothiriel's Tragic Backstory from a secondary source, but I'm gonna try to run through that as quickly as I can. 
> 
> I should have an update ready for you all soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd, we're back!
> 
> This is a quick warning for this chapter. There is brief mentions of past child abuse and attempted sexual assault, but I have kept them as simple as possible, not wanting to go into too much description. Also Lothiriel is going to have a few dark thoughts, and assumptions. I'm always nervous when writing some darker stuff.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Eowyn asked, confused by the eager grin on her brothers face as he helped her down from her horse and hugged her.

“Marriage has changed me, I suppose,” Eomer quipped pulling a face at her.

“What is that about your neck?” she scowled at the strange scarf, at least, it looked as if it aspired to someday be a scarf but had skipped through most of the training for the occupation, “It looks as if you have tortured a ferret and have taken to wearing it as a trophy.”

Eomer scoffed at her, “Be nice, Lothiriel made if for me, and I am trying to encourage her!”

Eowyn’s head tilted a little, “Then things are well between you?”

“Of course, they are!” Eomer clucked at her, wondering what on earth would make her thing they were not. Were the Gondorian courts full of malicious gossip? He could imagine Eowyn volunteering to put such gossip to bed. He smiled at his sister, “Come into the Hall, we should see you fed and out of the cold!”

“I will have some refreshments brought up,” Lothiriel said, a little nervously.

“Thank you, my lady wife,” Eomer beamed at her, passing Windfola’s reins over to a stable hand, and guiding her along, “What is the news from Gondor?”

Eowyn’s eyes narrowed for a moment on Lothiriel, hoping that she had not made a mistake in coming here after all. Were they happy, or pretending? No, she decided that something had been misunderstood somewhere, as Eomer had never been particularly gifted at pretending. “Not terribly much, I fear. Queen Arwen is with child.”

“Is she? I had not heard. I should write congratulating them,” Eomer said, absentmindedly, “thought it might be better to have Lothiriel write the letter itself…”

When she was seated in their apartment, Eowyn gave a cursory glance over the rooms as far as she could see, and managed a quick peek at the Royal Bedchamber, and noted the well-made bed, and the side tables ladened down with Eomer’s things on one side and a stack of books on the other. It looked as if the King and Queen were still sharing a bed at least. She envied them that. In Gondor, noble couples slept separately unless a nighttime visit was made.

“Is Lothiriel…?” Eowyn asked, wanting to see what Eomer would think she was asking, but he simply stared back at her inquisitively. “How have you found your marriage thus far? I know you were nervous.”

“I was not,” Eomer settled back in his seat.

“You were!”

“Only a little,” he smirked, self-consciously, “Honestly, there have been a few minor mishaps, but otherwise I am content. More than that in fact, she has been such a help to me.”

Lothiriel appeared in the door, glancing between them awkwardly, “Some food should be brought soon, and I am having the guest room made ready for your use.”

Eomer, mistaking her nervousness for an uncertainty of where she was meant to sit, got up from his chair and beaconed her take his seat.

“Then you have not taken a mistress?” Eowyn asked, studying them both with a deadly glare, taking in the way that Lothiriel stiffened and Eomer’s look of surprise which quickly melted into a weary look of understanding.

He let out a quiet, disheartened breath and he looked down at Lothiriel, “When did you even write her?”

“I did not…” Lothiriel replied quietly, “I wrote to Faramir, and that was only after you shouted at me…”

“I was back and apologizing within the hour!”

“I grant you that it was not the best thing that I have ever done-”

“A warning would have been nice,” Eomer grumbled, suddenly regretting that he had given up his chair to his treacherous wife.

“I wrote the next day that I had been wrong,” Lothiriel protested.

“There has been bad weather along the mountains,” Eowyn reported, “and it has stalled a good number of letters, I would guess. But having come all this way, I should at least hear how this happened?” She tried to put on her best look of intrigue and excitement over some dreadfully entertaining tale of misunderstanding but was distinctly aware of the sour mood that was setting itself in Eomer and feeling as though she should have written to Lothiriel for clarification, but it was far too late for that now.

He looked at Lothiriel again, his brow dark, “I need a drink, and it is your turn to explain that whole thing, since you are so keen to bandy about gossip of our marriage.”

“Bring one for your wife and for me,” Eowyn called after him.

Eomer let out a quick grunt and said nothing else.

As Eowyn listened to the story, she could not decide which part of this disturbed her the most, that her brother had been such an idiot, that Lothiriel had been so silently ready for blood, or that Lothiriel was now sitting on his lap, that having been their compromise for the lack of seating options rather than fetching another chair from the breakfast table. Even having perched his wife on his knee, Eomer still looked as if he was a few moments from shouting at her.

“And now you know all of it,” Lothiriel said shamed by having dragged Eowyn all the way to Edoras in the middle of winter, “I swear, I only thought you would write him a scathing letter.”

“You are simply fortunate that I was able to dissuade Faramir from riding here!” Eowyn chided her mirthfully, grinning.

“What did that beanpole imagine he was going to do?” Eomer scoffed, irritably.

Lothiriel swatted his leg, trying to tease him and improve his mood, “Hush, now!”

“Oddly enough a blade cares little for the size of its wielder,” Eowyn said, pointedly, and smirked a little at the apologetic look that Eomer gave her, “But besides that, do try to remember that my husband is Steward of Gondor, and has a goodly amount of political power at his fingertips.”

Eomer rolled his eyes, “Fine then.” He looked down a moment before drinking, trying to set aside his anger at Lothiriel and her deception. They had discussed this sort of thing and had agreed not to keep things from each other, even if those things might not be entirely pleasant. He understood her keeping silent, and her probable embarrassment, but still wished that she had told him.

“Might I stay though Yule? It would at least offer a decent explanation for my presence here,” Eowyn asked, politely.

“Of course!” Eomer said, trying to smile, “It will save me needing to send your gift south.”

“You should have done sooner, if you meant for it to arrive on time.”

“I forgot!” Eomer snapped, his mood rearing its head.

Lothiriel froze for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut before she remembered herself. Composing her features back into a simple sort of smile, she shook her head a little, hiding her face in her cup, “I meant to put it on your schedule, so it is my fault. You have had so much on your plate recently.”

He grunted some answer that Lothiriel seemed to understand as she folded her hand over his and gave him the most pitifully apologetic look that Eowyn could think of ever seeing, just short of pouting, but it had little effect on his mood.

As well as Eowyn knew her brother, he knew that if he was giving short responses or grunts in place of words, that didn’t necessarily mean that he was angry, but the way that Lothiriel seemed to almost crumple made her wonder if he had been more loquacious of late. It was an odd sort of thing to watch unfold as if they were having some silent argument, an argument that Eomer seemed to be winning. After a moment, Lothiriel stood carefully, her hand in Eomer’s as he helped her up.

“I should return to my duties and let you both catch up. Would it be alright if I made use of your study? I have some ledgers to review?” Lothiriel asked, hoping that Eomer would look at her, and got a quick glance as he nodded.

Lothiriel smiled sweetly, setting her cup on a sideboard and curtsying before she withdrew closing the door quietly as if she thought that any sound would only further infuriate her husband.

“Are you going to stay cross with her long?” Eowyn teased.

He let out a groan, “She should have said is all,” he ran a hand over his face, “or better yet not written.”

“If I even suspected that Faramir had a mistress my writing you a tear-stained letter would be the least of his concerns!” Eowyn replied, “What were you thinking in letting them become friends?”

“I suppose I was not, but as nothing happened, I would rather not dredge this all up again. It was weeks ago! I have already apologized for losing my temper at her, and it has been good as forgotten!”

Eowyn held her cup out to her brother for him to refill it, “She is young, and you had best forgive her this one mistake.”

“I only hope she hasn’t written anyone else.”

“I doubt she has, brother. Her family is so… abnormal.”

“What is the story there, by the way?” Eomer asked, his attitude shifting already, and Eowyn did not envy Lothiriel the charge of minding Eomer’s moods, and was thankful that that duty no longer fell on herself, “I want to ask her, but Lothiriel seems to take any discussion of her past as a topic to be avoided, or else covered up with excuses and placations.”

“Where to begin?” Eowyn said thoughtfully, flipping through the facts that Faramir had told her, “Do you know about the governess?”

“That was not very kind?”

“An understatement.”

“I know she was the sort that seemed to favor physical discipline, but not much more.”

“Do you remember when Uncle first adopted us, and we all went to Gondor for some State function or other.”

“Vaguely,” Eomer admitted, “I remember that Theodred kept trying to force us to befriend Boromir’s cousins, Lothiriel’s family, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and he tried to make me play with Lothiriel, but she was half my age and quiet. I suppose he decided to look after her, though I do not recall what started the whole thing. What I do recall is Theodred and Boromir getting into a fight over the fact that no one in the family seemed to notice or care that Lothiriel’s legs and back looked like mottled cloth.”

Eomer’s eyes widened a little, “Then it was not simply discipline that went too far.”

“No, that woman was vile and cruel for no good reason, from what I have heard, and no one paid Lothiriel enough attention to even realize it. Gondorian nobles keep their children in the nursery until they are useful. Unless there is some benefit to showing them off,” Eowyn adjusted her seat, feeling a little sore from the long ride, but not wanting to give Eomer the satisfaction of her discomfort, or to give him a reason to send her away yet, “I suppose it went on for a while until Lord Denethor finally offered to take her to Minas Tirith and to have her studies paid for.”

“She mentioned that she had lived with her uncle,” Eomer sat forward, that decision never having made much sense to him, “but did Imrahil never ask her to return?”

“A few visits now and then, I think, but not much more than that.”

“Why?” He couldn’t imagine a parent sending their child away without a second thought. Sending a daughter to a school he could see, but just handing her raising over to someone else, that he could not make sense of, especially not to live in a city that had been in such grave danger for as long as Minas Tirith had been.

“I think that he is of the sort that prefers never to consider or discuss unpleasantness,” Eowyn said bluntly, “I think he could not face that he had made a mistake in the first place and thought it better just to wipe the slate clean and try again when she was older. The trouble is by the time he thought to build that relationship with her it was too late.”

“I do not blame her for wanting no part of him,” he muttered.

Eowyn studied him for a moment, debating whether or not she should go on, or leave it there.

“What?” Eomer asked, knowing that look, and preparing himself for whatever it was.

“There is something, but you must promise it will stay between us. If it ever got out in Gondor, apparently it would be a scandal, and Lothiriel would bear the brunt of it.”

Eomer’s brows rose, “What sort of scandal? Did she try to elope or something of the sort?”

His sister’s head wiggled a little as she considered the question, “Not… in the way that we would think of it…”

“Now you must tell me,” Eomer begged, trying to imagine his proper and well brought up wife planning to flee the city with her lover, or even having on in the first place. He knew that she had been a maiden when they had married, so she would not have had a lover in the sense that he knew it. Perhaps she had had some infatuation in her youth.

“Not a word?”

“On my honor.”

Eowyn took a drink, biting back a retort on that point,“Well, from what Erchirion said once while he was quite intoxicated and had to be stopped from murdering one of the lords in the diplomatic crowd-”

Eomer laughed, wishing that of all of the family that he had married into, that the middle son would come in live in Edoras. He could find a post for Erchirion in the court, he was certain of it.

“Are you through?” Eowyn asked with her firmest headmistress look in place, watching him until she was certain he wouldn’t give another outburst, “Apparently that lord tried to force a marriage.”

“How does one go about forcing a marriage?”

Eowyn raised a brow, “By doing something to a lady that would get a man hanged here.”

Eomer’s brow dropped as the realization sank in, “Who?”

“He did not manage it.”

“That does not matter.”

“It does. Lothiriel got him off of her somehow and kicked his face in while he was down.”

A quick surge of pride rushed through him, almost overtaking his anger. Did her entire family know about this, or only Faramir and Lothiriel’s favorite brother? Had they all sat around discussing what to do if the word got out about an attempted assault of her person?

“She was inspected by a midwife at the family’s urging to ensure that nothing happened, in case the word ever did get around,” Eowyn went on, waiting for Eomer to throw something or else saddle up Firefoot and leave as decisively as she had left Minas Tirith.

“I fail to see how that is a scandal, at least how that would be on Lothiriel’s shoulders,” he said, not fully ready to ask what manner of inspection Eowyn meant but having a sense that it would be as horrific as everything else his sister had told him.

“Because she went with him out of sight of the court, and whatever happened was therefore likely asked for,” Eowyn waved her hand at the look that came over her brother’s face. “I swear, I would have come back here whether Lothiriel had written me or not. You are not allowed to be upset with her for giving me a reason to come home for a time.”

“You could simply stay here,” Eomer said, trying to decide which player in Lothiriel’s backstory he wanted to throttle the most, “You know that you are perfectly welcome to do so.”

They fell into the comfortable sort of quiet that was common to two people that were close, as some food was brought in for them, not wanting to speak further where anyone might hear them.

“I haven’t asked how you have found your marriage.” Eomer said as soon as they were alone again and sitting at the small table, picking up a few pieces of sliced ham and cheese.

She gave him a small smile, “I love Faramir, I do. But sometimes I feel the weight of being married to the Steward of Gondor pressing down on me. And I know it is completely absurd because I hardly do anything, though perhaps that makes it all the worst. I take what time I can to learn at healing, when I am able, and though he supports my interests, sometimes I feel as though he would rather me find minding the household and doing nothing more than that.”

“Have you spoken to him about this?”

“Yes,” Eowyn looked so tired for a moment and Eomer considered adding her husband to the list of people he would have a word with at the next opportunity, “It is simply one of those things in the first years of marriage. It can be difficult to learn to live with another person, and to change with them.”

“I do not think that marriage should force one to change for the benefit of a partner.”

“That is positively rich coming from you,” Eowyn smirked at him.

“I have not changed in the least!”

“Brother, you have taken to wearing the most hideous scarf I have ever laid eyes on, simply because your wife made it for you.”

“That is different!”

“Is it?” She leaned on the arm of her chair, “You have been married only a few months, and yet putting aside the matter of your wife writing a letter to her cousin while she was in the middle of a fury and your feelings on that, I cannot recall ever seeing you so happy as you are now.”

“If I tell you a thing, will you promise not to laugh at me?”

“I make no such vow and you know I will not.”

He groaned but had already began and knew withdrawing now would only lead to ridicule until he broke, “I am trying to learn to dance.”

When was the last time she had laughed that hard? Eowyn honestly could not remember. Simply imagining him trying to manage graceful movements was enough to get her through at least six banquets, no matter who she was sat next to, “And you say you have not changed!”

“Alright, enough. It is not that amusing,” he grumbled, “Lothiriel likes to dance, and I should like to dance with her is all.”

“Have you tripped over your own feet yet?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, lifting the decanter and finding it empty. Damn. It was likely better that it was. He shouldn’t drink more than he had already. He still needed to speak to his wife and explain his own feelings, and it was better if he did not go about that while drunk. The small meal that had been brought up would not absorb any more whiskey if he went to fetch a refill.

He thought for a moment, “You know Imrahil did not even bother to tell Lothiriel that I asked to court her?”

“We certainly married into an interesting family…” Eowyn mumbled, looking away and sinking into her own thoughts.

0x0x0

Lothiriel tried to mind her work, she really did, but she sat, with her leg bouncing against the carpet and chewing at the side of her thumb, anxiety wracking her. She had been doing so well, but she had found a way to ruin it, the same way she ruined everything. Eomer hated few things as much as he hated betrayal, and he clearly had taken her stupidity as a betrayal.

He had told her that he did not want people gossiping about their personal life, and she had used that against him. There was nothing that she could do to make this better, she knew. His mood might pass, but she had seen him hold his grudges tight. She tried to remind herself that he loved her, but she had been told her entire life that the love of a man was a fickle thing, and that they lacked the attention to keep to monogamy, and that it was a wife’s duty to accept such things.

She pressed her hands over her eye trying to calm her breathing and find a way to talk her way out of this. But then, Eomer was a quiet sort of man when he was angry, or else explosive in her own experience. If he was in a quiet rage, then her blathering on at him and making excuses would only make it all worse for her.

At the sound of the door opening, she made a show of sliding a couple of the beads on her abacus, pretending to be dedicated to her work.

Eomer stared at her, his anger almost dissipated, and all the more for the sight of her sitting cross legged on the floor with her books spread out around her. She looked so small and for a moment as she looked at him, she looked afraid.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am simply assuring that the Refugee Supplements are counted correctly,” she said quietly, getting to her feet and curtsying, “and reviewing my ledgers, my lord.”

“I see that, but why are you sitting on the floor?”

“I did not want to disturb your things,” she said, glancing at his desk and blushing a little at the memory.

His gaze slid away from her and he shook his head, seeing the color on her cheeks and trying not to smile at her embarrassment, “I thought we agreed that we would not keep things from each other or lie.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said, staring at the floor, “I swear, I sent a letter explaining that I was wrong. I thought I had made it right and did not want to trouble you-” From the edge of her vision she saw him moving toward her and fast. The thought went through her mind before she could stop it, that she was his wife, and he was well within his legal rights to hit her for what she had done. She flinched instinctively, ready for him to strike her, but the blow didn’t come.

Eomer shoved his indignation away as quickly as he was able, looking at her, and trying not to feel to hurt over the fact that she had thought that he would hurt her, “Look at me.”

After a second of hesitation, her pale eyes trailed up to his face, wide and tormented. “My apologies,” she whispered, looking back down.

He bit down on his back teeth, taking a deep breath, and turning her face back up to him with his fingertips, “I have never raised a hand to you, and I never will.”

“I know,” she whispered, “I only… I… do not want you to be angry with me, but I know that you have every right to be.”

“I am, but it will pass.” He did not know how he was meant to explain what it was he felt, and how to make her understand.

He wished that Eowyn had never told him about Lothiriel’s past. He wished that he did not know, but at the same time at least understood in some way why Lothiriel recoiled from everything. She had likely lived her entire life hiding from the threat of violence.

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, “Just promise me that you will not try to turn my sister on me again.”

She nodded silently.

“She scares me,” he teased, trying to calm her before they had to discuss his own anger, and he did his best to shove that rage down as far as he could manage to. He hated having to hide his own feelings, hated that he had to act in a way outside of his own nature, and wanted not to shout at her, but at least be able to release some of his own emotions without being so concerned that she would recoil from him in terror, or hide behind her walls again. Some part of him was certain that if she fled deep within herself behind that mask again that it would take months to regain her open affection. He considered just leaving her alone and coming back to her when he was of a clearer mind, and perhaps that would be better, but looking at her, he thought it far more likely that if he did not speak to her now, she would sit here in her own anxieties, and would likely in fact do the very thing that he hoped to avoid.

Lothiriel chuckled, nervously.

Eomer kissed her brow and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight against him, wondering if Lothiriel would ever tell him the things that Eowyn had. If she would unburden herself of every dark thing that dwelt in her memory, or if she would follow her father’s lead and pretend that none of it had ever happened. “I understand why you did not tell me that you did not tell me that you had written to your cousin, but I wish that you had,” Eomer said carefully, measuring out his words.

“I was afraid that you would be cross with me, and I thought that I had already solved the problem, and that if I had you would never need to know how childish I had been.”

“And have you been so terribly concerned over this?”

“I have.”

“Might I point out, my lady, that had you shared that concern with me that I would not be so angry?”

He did not seem as angry as she had expected, now that she thought about it, and she wondered if his sister had told him to behave himself, or if he was so pleased to see his beloved sister and perhaps that joy was a balm against his anger.

“You still would have been.”

“Yes, but not as angry as I am now,” he reiterated the point, trying to keep his stranglehold on his temper, and realizing that he was speaking to her the way that he would to a naughty child, “I am angry over the fact that you kept it from me, more than I am that you wrote the letter.”

“You do not seem very angry,” she said quietly.

He let out a breath, letting his hands slide down her arms, “I am doing my best to contain my temper, for I do not want you to fear me, as it seems that you still do.”

His words pricked at something in her heart, and she realized how much the fact that she had flinched hurt him. It was not a thing that she had done with any intention or control, but a natural instinct that she could not explain to him without having his pity.

Pity was the very enemy of respect her instructors at school had told her and the other girls, and they were never to make themselves into tragic figures in their marriages or try to use their feminine weaknesses to alleviate any of the duties that were theirs by being married. Marriages were best made if there was respect of some fashion, and that was what she had been told was the best that she could expect in her own marriage. She had believed it, though she knew that there was more than that between herself and Eomer, she still could not quite shake off the words that she had been told her entire life.

If he had hit her, she would have been able to explain it to herself and think of it the same way that she thought of her governess, Lady Neithariel, that it was done to improve her, or to change her poor behavior, even if she knew that it was wrong. But she forced herself to think about her reaction and expectation in a logical way, and she knew that he was a gentle man, at least he was to her, and that as he had said, he had never raised a hand to her or even threatened her with violence, and clearly took insult at the very idea. The roughest he had handled her was when he had carried her from the stables, but even in that case he had been careful of her.

“I do not fear you,” she said, having decided that there was in truth no other thing that she could really say. It was the truth, for he had said that he would never hurt her and had been true to that so far. There was therefore no reason to expect him to be anything other than what she had seen him be, “I have no explanation for my reaction to your approach, my lord.”

“I might think that you have been hurt too much in your life.”

“I do not know why you should think that.”

Eomer narrowed his eyes a little, watching the way that she cut her gaze away from him, shifting as if she had been caught doing something that she should not have. Why was it so hard for her to confide in him? He had thought that they had moved past this sort of thing. “Erchirion mentioned to me at our wedding that your life had enough sorrow in it and that I should mind that I did not add any more.”

“He should not have thought to bully you,” she scoffed, stooping to pick her books up and organize them.

“Thiriel,” he pulled her back up by his arm, “We will fight with each other. It is only natural that we should disagree, and I would not have you thinking that such a normal part of marriage would be a danger to you.” He was so tired of having to explain these things, and for a moment it crossed his mind to leave it at that and let her figure the rest out for herself. It would make things easier if she could simply understand him as he had assumed that she had.

“I know,” she looked away again, “and I am trying to be…”

He turned her face up to him again, “Stop looking away from me when you are uncomfortable.”

“Would you rather I stare at you?”

He smirked a little, recognizing how foolish his request was, “I suppose not. I do not want you withdrawing back into yourself is all, and I do not know how I am meant to explain these things to you when as far as I see it, they should not need explanation.” He lowered his hand away and was a little pleased that she still looked at him.

“I do not know what else I should give you,” she admitted.

“I have not asked for anything,” even if he wanted her to confide in him more than she already was, he did not recall having actually asking her do so yet.

“But there is something that you want, and I do not know what it is,” her voice was a little strained, “I have tried to be more as I am without thinking, but I can hardly be expected to have completely changed my ways as quickly as you seem to wish I would.”

“You make it sound as if I have laid some weighty request on you.”

She thought for a moment, biting her lips together, “I suppose in a way you have, though it should not be so difficult, I know, and it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

“I want to know what made you this way,” he gestured to her, and then held up an apologetic hand as soon as he saw her face fall, “I do not mean… I want to know what your life was before we married. You never discuss your past.”

“Because it does not matter.”

“But it does! Our pasts are what form us, in part anyway,” he said, his voice raising a little without him noticing, but she did not flinch this time at least.

“Perhaps, but if you wish me to put aside all trained behavior, I fail to see how it matters.”

“Because there are things that you cannot change or control. How is it that you would strike another lady, but stand here, and expect that I mean to strike you and simply accept that?”

She shook her head, “That is different.”

“How is it?”

“You are my husband.”

He gawked at her, trying to work out how that was an answer, “Were you told to expect such things, then?”

Lothiriel sighed wearily, almost wishing he would simply go back to being angry with her about the letter and stop making her go through her entire life. “Eomer…”

Taking a breath, he tried to calm himself, “I need to know.”

“I do not want to burden you,” she admitted finally, “I do not want you to know such things and have it change the way that you see me.”

“How do you think my opinion would change?” he waited for an answer that did not seem forthcoming, he softened a little, “We are bound together for our whole lives, and when I say that we should not keep things from each other, I mean even the things we do not want to speak of.” He looked at her and saw her eyes gleaming with tears that she was trying to check, and he closed the distance between them without thinking. He held her head against his chest and rubbed a hand over her back, “I am not asking you to tell me everything now, but I should hope that by now you would trust me enough to confide in me.”

“I do trust you,” she sniffled, still pressing her face against his tunic, “I trust you more than anyone in the world.”

That seemed a low bar from what he knew, but he still took some comfort in it.

“Are you still angry?” Lothiriel asked after a moment.

Considering it, Eomer found that he was not in truth. He was a little frustrated, but perhaps he was expecting too much from her and too quickly at that, as she had said. They had lived together barely four months and he was expecting to already know everything about her.

“No, I am not angry at you,” he said wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Then you still love me?” she asked, her voice cracking a little as she asked.

A soft, empathetic chuckle left him, “Yes, dearest, I still love you.”

Her arms wrapped around his waist.

He pulled back a little, “Now will you please tell me why you were sitting on the floor?”

“I tried to work at the desk, but I could not manage it.”

“Why?” he asked, as if he had no notion of why she should be distracted by the work surface, “It is quite a sturdy piece of furniture, as you well know.”

She blushed to her ears for a moment, faltering and trying to come up with the right words before she caught the soft crinkling about his eye, “Oh!” she smacked his arm.

0x0x0

The next day, Eowyn accepted an invitation to Lady Baldgwyn’s house with all the excitement of a child going to the house of their favorite aunt. In a way, she supposed that was what Lady Baldgwyn was to her. She had known her mother’s sisters in a formal and rather distant sort of way and had not seen any of them in years.

The two ladies went through the expected small talk, Baldgwyn asking if Eowyn was enjoying married life, and Eowyn asking after Baldgwyn’s sons. The pleasantries aside, Eowyn relaxed a little.

“Tell me the truth,” she leaned forward, “are they always like this, or are they putting on a show for my benefit?”

For a moment Baldgwyn was not certain what it was that Eowyn was asking her, “Do you mean to ask if your brother and his wife are truly so…” she searched for the right word, “besotted as they seem?”

Eowyn nodded as she sipped her tea, letting out a small murmur of affirmation. She had sat at the high table with them the evening before and had not been served enough mead to tolerate the lovesick way that Eomer and Lothiriel had been looking at each other for minutes on end.

“Eomer has been looking at her like that for months now.”

“I do not remember him ever being so pathetic as this,” Eowyn laughed.

“Oh, he has been, but not for so long as this for quite some time,” Baldgwyn smiled, looking a little too pleased by the fact that the royal couple were obscenely happy, as if she had some part in it besides the fact that she had all but dragged Eomer by his ear into his chambers to apologize to his wife and that she had been ready to threaten him with a club if he left. “In truth I think the fact that Her Grace punched Leowella in the face after she caught that little trollop in Eomer’s study really cemented her place in his affections. You know how he is.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know he has always liked fierce women-”

“No, I mean to ask you to explain to me what you mean about Lothiriel hitting Leowella!”

Baldgwyn’s face shifted into the pert look of a gossip who had the latest tidbit from the source and could not wait to be the one to tell the tale, “Well, I suppose that Leowella thought that Eomer would take her back.”

“Yes, yes, I know all of that,” Eowyn said exasperated and wishing that the older woman would get to the point. She regretted having said anything. She had forgotten that pressing Baldgwyn only made her go through what she had already meant to say, but now with more detail. She would likely be buried before Baldgwyn got to the part of the story that was of actual interest to her now.

“So, I suppose Leowella was in some tizzy or other at having been wrong and made some lewd, and poorly veiled innuendo, inferring that she had been with Eomer after all. Without a word, Lothiriel got up and punched her square in the face and banished her from court!”

“She never did!”

“Told Leowella never to step foot in her sight again.”

Eowyn wished that had been included in the letter, though she wondered how Faramir would have taken that. Poorly no doubt. That whole family seemed to be on pins and needles over whether or not Lothiriel was with child yet, seeming to think her ability to breed was her main function and not, at least openly, concerning themselves over whether or not she was happy in her new marriage. She knew of course that Imrahil worried about his youngest child and had always done, in his own way, but he never said such things aloud. It wasn’t done to have such emotional outbursts.

She hated the pretense of it all but did her best to fit into the society that she had chosen. There were times where she knew as soon as she had spoken that she had said the wrong thing, and that Faramir would sit in his silent mortification and not say a word. He loved her, she knew he did, and he never disapproved of anything that she said or did, and supported her, but the court and Minas Tirith was a viper’s pit, and he was always so desperate for approval from everyone that was anyone.

Shaking her head and trying to stop dwelling on the life that she had taken a holiday from, Eowyn leaned back in her seat, “Then they are always that nauseating?”

“Lothiriel Queen’s involvement is a fairly new development, but simply put they are,” Baldgwyn smiled, “I know you find irritation in it, but I am honestly happy for them.”

“Of course, I am as well. It just seems rather a lot. What was he doing in the Solar yesterday?”

Baldgwyn laughed, “Oh, let me tell you about what has been happening with the council!”

0x0x0

Lothiriel could feel sleep coming. It was just there at the back of her eyes, pressing forward and soon enough she would succumb to it.

“I worry that my sister is miserable,” Eomer’s voice suddenly shattered the silence that had filled their bedchamber, snatching Lothiriel back into wakefulness.

Biting down on a groan, she looked up at him, “Why?”

He looked back at her, hearing the sleepiness in her voice and immediately regretted having spoken. The thought could have kept until morning, but having roused Lothiriel, he might as well go on, “I do not know that Gondor is quite what she expected it to be is all. Might you speak to her?”

She nodded, not certain why he was asking her to do so. Eowyn had ever been kind to her, and interested in a way, but that did not seem to justify putting her nose in the middle of someone else’s life without that person having asked her to do so. Especially when she considered that she had been reminded that she had no idea what she was doing in her own.

The assurance that her husband loved her was a heartwarming one, thought in some dark part of herself, she feared what might become of her if his love faded or changed from what it was now. How could she be certain that he felt love the same way that she did?

Even as these thoughts came to her, she knew they were nothing true, and should be dismissed. She had not doubted him in the weeks since they had admitted their feelings and was only having them now because she could never just let herself believe that she might be allowed to be happy.

“What is it?” Eomer asked gently.

“Nothing,” she smiled against his chest.

“You have that look on your face that never bodes well for me,” he teased, threading his fingers through her hair, giving a slow comforting sensation at the movement of his fingers against her scalp.

“It is truly nothing,” she assured him, “just my mind wanting to render me quite mad.”

“What sort of madness would it be?”

“Not the sort of madness that you would enjoy,” she shifted a little, nestling against him still but adjusting her arm, and immediately regretted it as Eomer slipped his hand free of her hair, “Do not worry so, sometimes I simply have thoughts that are best ignored.”

Eomer moved, sitting up a little to look at her, trying to decide if his sweet, shy wife might secretly be plotting out a murder or some other crime, “Such as?”

Groaning, she rolled onto her back twisting her shoulder a little. She had promised to be more open with him, and supposed that having made the vow, she might as well observe it now, “Mostly just a sense that anything that is good in my life will not last, or that I am unworthy of it. I know the thoughts are not based on anything, but sometimes it can be hard to ignore them.”

He was looking at her, listening and waiting for her to go on.

“As I said, it does not bear thinking of,” she smiled at him.

“What is it that you do not think you deserve?”

To be honest, or to lie… she should make something up, that being her instinct, but looking at Eomer, and his concern, she could not quite manage it. So, she tried to take the thought and make it sound less desperate than it would likely sound, “It is only that I do not think I have ever been as truly happy as I am now. I suppose I am still not used to it.”

The look he gave her was difficult to read, “You deserve happiness.”

“Even if I have not always been the kindest of people?”

His brow shifted a little, “I can only speak to what I know and what I have seen in you, and I have only seen goodness in you.”

“Well, you are a man, and men are so easily blinded by their emotions.”

He chuckled, “Perhaps.” He thought for a moment, toying with the end of her braided hair, “To doubt is to be human, I think. I wonder sometimes if you would have ever married me if I was not king. If I had remained an Earl, I do not know that I would have ever been allowed to so much as speak to you.”

She couldn’t answer that, not knowing what her father would have said to such a thing. Likely he would have agreed to let her marry a King’s Cousin, especially one who was more a brother to said King. But more likely there would have been some plot to marry her to Theodred, she knew. She wondered if Theodred would have intervened on his cousin’s behalf, but having little enough knowledge of the late prince, did not want to consider what his actions might have been. She had only a few faint memories of Theodred, and only remembered that he had been rather kind to her when she had been small and had needed someone to be kind to her.

Lothiriel reached out and stroked his cheek, “I would not have ever thought that you would have any doubt at all. You always seem so assured of yourself.”

“You have your masks, and I have mine,” he said, his lips quirking a little as he spoke, “In truth, I fear that I will never live up to the responsibilities and expectations that are now laid on my shoulders. I never expected to be King, and I have therefore not been prepared for this station. If I fail in some way, it is not only some small holding that would suffer for it, but an entire country.” Hearing the words, he faltered for a moment before forcing himself to speak, “That is not to say that I did not care for the people in Aldburg…”

“I know, what you mean,” she smiled.

“You have been so helpful to me. I might confess that I had been in some small part concerned that you would find me rather foolish.”

“I suppose that is the trouble with arranged marriages, you never know what you might get. I, for one, am quite pleased with the husband I have.”

“Then you do not regret that you did not run away before the wedding?”

“I would not have made it far,” she admitted with a smile, “but no. Though I will admit that I was a little nervous about becoming your wife.”

“I do not doubt it, since it seems that you were told nothing that should recommend me to you as anything beyond a protector, if that even,” he said before going on, “Your father sent you to live in Minas Tirith, offering as a reason that you would have a better education, and chances of marriage. Am I correct in that?”

“Yes,” Lothiriel said, feeling as if she was stepping into a trap, but not having any better opinion to voice on the matter.

“Then he had a greater concern for your ability to be a lady than he was concerned for your safety?” Eomer asked, “Your father considered it better to send you to live in a city that was under the constant threat of war and siege than he was with having your manners be perhaps not the best?”

Lothiriel settled back against the headboard, not particularly wanting to have this conversation. She did not have the answers that would appease Eomer, or that would argue against the logic of his argument. “Please tell me that I have not given you some cause to dislike my father for that was never my intent,” she said.

“If you had known that I would not like what you told me, would you have held those words back?”

“I likely would have, though I know you do not want me to say so.”

He let out a groaning sigh, and he stared ahead, thinking out how to say it without beating her over the head with the point, “You needn’t protect your family from my wrath, you know.”

“Shouldn’t I?” she asked with a smirk. 

“No. If they have treated you poorly, neglected you, they should be held accountable for it, rather than having you make excuses for their behavior.”

She nodded quietly, knowing that he was right, and that she could not in truth argue the point, even by saying that defending her father was in fact her duty as a daughter. A thought came to her, “Do you have any living family?”

He turned quickly to look at her.

“That was an impertinent question,” she said by way of apology, but decided to push the point because she wanted to know.

“I have a grandmother in Gondor, one aunt who lives with her, another who lives in the Eastfold and another that lives in Isendale

“Will I ever meet any of them?”

He settled back, adjusting the pillow behind his shoulders, “I cannot say. Thenghild and Theowella come to visit from time to time when their husbands have vexed them too much, but Morwen and Thendlith never leave Lossarnach far as I know,” he thought for a moment, “my father had no living siblings and I do have some kin about Aldburg, but I hardly know them…”

“May I make a request that you might think foolish and ignorant in the face of your culture?”

“You have my attention,” Eomer said, grateful not to be left to consider the complete lack of family connections.

“When we have children, will you allow them not to have such similar names as seems customary here?”

He let out a laugh, “I suppose I will allow it.”

“Do not laugh! I am serious! I do not know how many reiterations of ‘eo-something’ I will be able to tolerate.”

“You do not hold me in high enough esteem to name all of our children to honor me.”

“When you manage to carry and birth them, I might consider it.”

Eomer chucked, and leaned over to kiss her, “Then we shall name all of our children for you, my love.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “I take your teasing as a clear sign of your assent and will hold you to it.”

He kissed her cheek, “I will let you sleep, love. I am sorry for waking you.”

Shaking her head, she curled back beside him, aware of the thoughts that whirled in his mind, and she wondered if she should sleep or if she should press him to speak to her. It might be dangerous to let him stew in his thoughts, but she did not have the energy to argue with him, for she thought it likely that they would end up arguing. Alternatively, they would end up in some deep conversation which would lead to her sitting quietly and considering her miserable life more than she wanted to.

How had she come to a place in her life where a man that she had considered quiet and grim was so talkative. She knew that she was lucky that he spoke to her as much as he did, having seen him interact with people and knowing that he was in fact rather quiet by nature, but there were times when she wondered if he was not speaking to her with some goal in mind now.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Lothiriel had expected the midwinter festivals, or _Géola_ as it was called in the Rohirric tongue, to be rather similar to the ones that she had experienced in her youth but was disavowed of that notion as the organizing of those festivities began, learning that she was expected to feed every soul that would show up, which was likely the entire city, and that she was meant to offer the first toast, and accept every single one given her and drink quite a lot by consequence.

Holly and Evergreen garlands were brought into the hall to decorate it, filling the house with a sweet aroma that Lothiriel could not remember ever smelling in such abundance before, while mistletoe was hung about the door to ward off evil spirits that might think to sneak in on the darkest and longest night. It had first been done to remind one that the earth only slept, and that even in winter, there was still life, thought now it was likely done more out of expectation and the connection of the smell to emotion, though Lothiriel kept that thought to herself.

She felt that she was learning as she went once more, having become comfortable enough with her understanding of her new country, and their customs, but she had not been present for any great feasting day beyond her wedding.

Baldgwyn and Eowyn helped her with the arrangements without her having to ask, which Lothiriel accepted gratefully.

“I swear if I manage to get through the first year as Queen without making a mistake that will offend the entire country, I will consider it a miracle,” Lothiriel said settling to sit, taking a break from instructing and supervising, and picking up her knitting.

Eowyn smiled, as she watched her brother’s wife taking up the practical work, and thought that it looked as if she was trying to make a scarf, and that it at least looked more presentable than the one that Eomer currently took such pride in. “How do you like the Riddermark?” Eowyn asked.

“I do rather like it more than I had thought I would,” Lothiriel admitted, glancing over at the men that hung the garlands, worried that they would do some damage, or fall, but they seemed to be doing well enough without her bothering them. Lady Baldgwyn still observed their work but did so quietly. She went on, “It is not that there are no rules of comportment, but it seems that the rules there of this court are simpler, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. I remember feeling stifled here,” Eowyn chuckled ruefully.

“At least you have love,” Lothiriel said before laughing, “I suppose I sound rather foolish, but I have found it a comfort to have such affections.”

“Then you do indeed love my brother?”

“Yes,” Lothiriel blushed a little, “I might admit that I had my own misgivings about what my marriage would mean for me, but I have found a love that is better than I would have imagined having.”

Eowyn smiled at the younger’s beaming face, even as Lothiriel turned her face back down, as if she was expecting to be chided for her feelings, rather than have them accepted as natural.

“I had come here with no idea of my lord Eomer beyond the few times that we had spoken.”

“And the letters he sent you,” Eowyn reminded her, teasingly, having a fair enough guess what the answer to that would be.

“I would not have called what he sent letters,” Lothiriel said, “and in truth I had little indications from them of any interest of that sort.”

“He is a bit hopeless when it comes to correspondences,” Eowyn smiled with some sympathy, “what manner of things did he write?”

Lothiriel laughed, “Well, even before I knew that I was to marry him, he sent, at best brief inquiries into my health and how it was that I was passing the time. My father asked if I might consent to the marriage, and I did, and continued to receive similar notes, and thought that it was only out of politeness that Eomer wrote them.”

Eowyn wanted to laugh at that, and to tell Eomer that he had done little enough to tell Lothiriel that he had asked for her hand and make the point next time he wanted to gripe that no one had told Lothiriel that he had liked her. Bless him and his emotional constipation. “He rarely does a thing for the sake of politeness.”

“You did try to warn me,” Lothiriel smiled directly at her, turning her face directly and suddenly, “that he was shy. Is Faramir treating you well? He can be such a whiney child if he is not given enough attention.”

Biting back another laugh, Eowyn nodded, “He had been. In truth I have still been trying to learn how to be a Gondorian Lady, it does seem to require quite a bit of energy and training.”

Lothiriel studied her face, “Do you hate it?”

Eowyn looked back at her, startled, “No. I have my own work, and thank Bema for it, for if I was left only to my needlepoint and chatter, I would go quite mad in the dullness of it.” She caught herself too late, having already said it, and knowing that she could not take them back.

Looking back down at her working hands, Lothiriel smiled gently, “I know the feeling. If Eomer had not let me at the accounts, I think I would have no sense of purpose,” she stopped herself from mentioning that he asked her opinions on matters of governance, still not certain that such a thing was in fact appropriate, “Though I do think it is important to have some sort of social life outside of duty. There is a different sort of conversation when there is an easy idleness, I think.”

The casual use of Eomer’s name did not escape Eowyn’s notice, and if she had been in any doubt over their relationship, that chipped away at it, “I have had a difficult time finding friends in the society of Minas Tirith,” Eowyn admitted, slowly, “Though, Her Majesty Queen Arwen is a dear lady, and we have become rather friendly.”

“Then none of the other ladies should dare say a word against you.”

“Should,” Eowyn said, significantly, “no one says anything directly to me anyway, and I care not for the words that they whisper behind my back, anyway.”

Lothiriel could hear the lie in those words, and in Eowyn’s strong and determined voice. She reached out and took Eowyn’s hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze, “The best advice I can offer is that if someone says something that you do not think entirely kind, simply look at them and say, ‘I beg your pardon, I did not catch that.’ Typically, they’ll lack the courage to say it again.”

“I should think you would have all sorts of tricks to manage those snakes,” Eowyn smirked, as Lothiriel went back to her stitching.

“In truth, I usually would give them a look and pretend not to care.”

“What was the look?”

With a small puffing sigh, Lothiriel sat up a little straighter and turned her face to Eowyn’s, a perfect composition of bored disinterest, as if she had heard something so dull that she did not feel the need to comment. That look melted and Lothiriel smiled a little, “I still have to put that on from time to time, but much less often than I did before I came here.” She studied Eowyn for a long, quiet moment, “May I write to you?”

“Of course!” Eowyn replied surprised by the question, and that Lothiriel had thought that she had needed to ask.

Lothiriel’s small smile widened, “I had not wanted to burden you with unwanted correspondences. I suppose I have not been properly socialized until recently.”

“The burden of being among the highest born of a court,” Eowyn said, realizing it as that words left her, “Especially in a family that needs as much tending as our have. We take on all the charges of their cares and forget our own, or else become so embittered by it that we do not bother.”

Lothiriel considered the words and wondered which camp Eowyn had fallen into. Likely bitterness, judging from the way that she spoke of it. Was her life in Gondor better in that way? She knew that Eomer wanted her to discuss the matter with her, but she could not work out a way to do so without seeming as though she was pressing Eowyn for information.

Leaning her head back against the wall, Lothiriel scanned her eyes over the workmen again, “I would have your council on a matter.”

“Is it whether or not that looks better than the scarf that Eomer has taken to wearing? For I think anything would be better,” Eowyn laughed.

Lothiriel beamed, shamefaced as she shook her head, “That was only a joke. I did not think he would take it so seriously as he has done. I tried to have it lost in the laundry, and he near tore the whole place apart looking for it, the silly man.”

“That sounds like my brother,” Eowyn laughed.

“I am concerned that he will ask to let Leowella back at court eventually, you know what a soft touch he is…”

Eowyn rolled her eyes, “You are likely right…”

“So, what do you think I should do? I do not want her back here, nor do I want to be responsible for ruining her entire life. I just do not know how I might achieve both things at once. If there was somewhere that I could send her, and have her married or something…” Lothiriel let out a sigh, “I do not know…”

Eowyn thought over the matter for a moment. In truth she had always liked Leowella, and for a time had hoped that Eomer would have taken it into his mind to marry her. The idea came to her suddenly, and strangely, “By your leave, I might write to her and ask if she would not object to living in Minas Tirith as a companion to me. We have always gotten on well enough, and I know that she always wanted to visit the sea.”

“Would there not be some trouble?”

“Oh, I doubt it. I will write to Faramir and tell him of the arrangement, and tell him that it was all a misunderstanding, and paint over her actions so that he will not be so terrible to her.”

Lothiriel’s face shadowed a little, “I did not think even he would be so upset over it. In truth I thought he would be angry over the dishonor to our family more than anything else.”

Faramir’s words rang in Eowyn’s mind for a moment, the words ‘public affair’ seemed to stand out for some reason, but she thought it likely that she was overanalyzing it with Lothiriel’s point of view in the forefront of her mind, “Your family loves you, in their own ways.”

“I know,” Lothiriel said, lightly, her eyes not leaving her needles and their slow movements, “it is a strange thing to leave one’s country of birth and need to learn how to be all over again, is it not?”

“Yes, but it is easier when there is something to be said for having allies in that challenge,” Eowyn smiled, feeling somehow better for the fact she was taking a friend back with her, and one whom would be able to share the culture shock with her. Though after a moment of thought, Leowella would do well in Minas Tirith. She had the sort of outgoing personality that would be appreciated in any court.

Later, when Lothiriel suggested this as a solution for Leowella’s benefit, Eomer agreed to it, giving his blessing and thinking it would do the lady good to have a fresh chance at life away from his accidental influence.

0x0x0

That night, Eowyn wrote out her letters, having put off writing to Faramir for some reason, unknown even to herself. The only reason she could truly come up with was that she was simply overcome by the comfort of being home.

_“My Dearest Husband,_

_I have made it safely to Edoras and am sitting quite comfortably in a room here and can write to you with the confidence of an eyewitness, that all is well in this house._

_My brother and your cousin are well and seem quite happy in their marriage. The matter that I came here to investigate seems to be nothing more than a simple misunderstanding and had been rectified quickly after Lothiriel sent the letter off to us.”_

Eowyn paused a moment, trying to decide how to frame the entire mess of it without leaving an unfavorable impression of Lady Leowella? She thought for a long moment before writing on.

_“From what I have been told of the entire debacle, it seems that Lothiriel in her youthful innocence mistook some statement or other and my brother, being too proud and foolish did not properly dismiss her concerns. They did after some time apart to collect themselves discuss the matter, make amends, and all is now forgiven._

_In fact, I am sure that I should be happy on their behalf, but I am overcome more often with a nausea in their presence for it seems that the match is a resounding success, and they both seem completely incapable of looking at anything other than each other. When they do look at each other it is the sort of long, lovesick stare that will likely seem entirely inappropriate for public sight. From what I have heard from more than one person that is in some manner of close personal friendship to both parties, that my dear brother has rendered himself quite ridiculous in the dedicated quest to woo your lady cousin, and more than that I can verify this by things that I have, with my own eyes, seen._

_On the matter of Lothiriel Queen, she seems to feel quite embarrassed over the fact that she wrote at all and says that she had written to us that she had in fact misunderstood the situation, and I suppose that had I not been so hasty in resolving this matter, I would have still been quite comfortably at home with you. She seems to me, to return the affections given her, if a bit shyly when she is aware of people seeing her, and not as shyly when they are alone.”_

Eowyn smirked to herself a little, having been woken in the middle of the night to hear the full assessment of Lothiriel’s lack of shyness in the privacy of the Royal Chambers. The walls of the hall were thick, but not as thick as the stone walls of the citadel, or even of the palace home that Eowyn shared with her husband, and there was something about Lothiriel’s voice that had a tendency to travel. The guest chambers shared a wall with the Royal Apartments which in other times would likely be a great honor, but for the fact that her brother and his wife seemed quite given to arduous affections.

At present the only sound that she could hear through the sturdy wall was the gentle notes of Lothiriel’s lute, a nice, peaceful sort of music that made Eowyn miss Faramir. The music stopped and Eowyn’s keen ears picked out the sound of a giggle and she closed her eyes, hoping that she would not be treated to some other sound yet.

She relaxed as the music resumed, and with a shake of her head, she returned to her letter.

_“Therefore, there is little else that I can say on the matter beyond offering the assurance that my brother is quite in love with his wife, and that there is no cause for concern for the state of their marriage. They are happy, and loving in their ways, and that tenderness is beyond what could possibly be forced for my own benefit._

_I will stay here for some time, and make a visit of it, so as to not cause any stir here, as it seems that no member of the court but those in the innermost social circle of the King and Queen have any concept that there was any wrong between them at all. In fact, when asked about it, it did seem to take my good brother a moment to remember what would even warrant my questioning at all.”_

She wanted to leave the letter there, and perhaps send a note or something in a few days so that Faramir would be prepared for the fact that Leowella would be returning with her, if she responded in affirmation to Eowyn’s request. If she did not, Eowyn would make some excuse, but she was not willing to tell Faramir what had in fact happened, as to do so would be to unleash Faramir’s full irritation, if not outright offense, on that lady.

_“I intend to bring back Lady Leowella with me to live as a companion, as I do miss some part of the spirit of this land, and it would lighten my heart to have a friend with me, as I have known her since our childhoods. She was, from what I have heard, rather foolish in the matter of befriending Lothiriel, but not entirely at fault, having only hoped to offer her some form of companionship in her early days here. I should thus hope that you would accept her coming and arrange her arrival with the court so that she might have some rooms made ready for her use. She is in fact a dear lady, and I think that we might do well to help her find a way in Minas Tirith, as I do think she would be rather a success in our court._

_I miss you terribly and do wish I would have been able to drag you away from your duties, for I think we could share a few laughs at this entire thing. It is my hope that staying here will only make me more eager to see our home again, my love.”_

Eowyn chewed on her lip, looking over the words, and trying to think of anything that she could add to the explanation, but could not think of anything. She let out a sigh, and signed the letter, and sealed it.

In the morning, she would pay a courier extra to take these letters to their destinations and to do so quickly.

She should take some sleep while she could. If she heard any sound of the passion that her brother shared with his wife, she would be up all night, staring at the ceiling again. As much as she loved being in the house that she had called home for so much of her life, all the more for the fact that it seemed renewed and more warmth and light than it had in years, she was a little vexed that the newlyweds could not be bothered to be even a mildly considerate. She was left with the impression that they were overdoing it in some fanatical need to impress each other.

This was not to say that her own marriage bed was cold, as she had convinced Faramir to stay with her most nights, save when she was obligated to seclude herself away from the court, and whether they did more than sleep was not the point of his presence. To her mind their relations sounded exhausting and made her miss her quiet husband all the more.

They had inherited a house after their parents had died and taken over ownership of it when they had come of age, and Eowyn wished that she had sent word ahead to prepare the house. She had not lived in the house ever, having been at first a child in her uncle’s care, and later needed to tend Theoden. She wondered what shape that house was in, and if Lothiriel had turned her mending mind to its refurbishment. If she had, Eowyn decided that she would see if she might stay there, away from the Royal Bedchamber.

0x0x0

There were traditions of the _Géola_ celebrations that Lothiriel had been prepared for. A few of the men, led by Eomer had hunted down a few boars and offered them as a symbolic sacrifice to the Great Hunter before they were brought back to be cooked and feasted on. A tree was felled and was to be burned in slow increments, hauled by men who pushed the trunk of the tree into the fire as it burned, save a small piece that would be used the next year to start the fire.

The hall was opened to all, and people streamed in and out, gathering in the open square at the foot of Meduseld, and Lothiriel felt a small measure of satisfaction that she had ordered every inch of the hall scrubbed and dusted, though she thought it likely that they would need to go through and clean it all again in the morning, or whenever it was that they all rose the next day.

0x0x0

Lothiriel sat at her mirror as Heohild finished pinning the thick braids in place, carefully minding her crown’s placement in her hair. It had been decided, at Eomer’s urging that she would not wear a veil, as he had said that at her age, no one would think anything of her hair being uncovered. It was the compromise as she had outright refused to wear her hair loose, knowing that by the end of the evening it would resemble a frizzy cloud, and she was not of a mind for that to happen.

With a gentle knock, Eomer poked his head in to check on the progress. He gave her an approving smile.

Having finished her work, Heohild smiled, curtsied and left them.

“Help me with my cloak?” Eomer asked, still not having brought anyone on to help with the charge of dressing him.

Lothiriel dabbed perfume to her pulse points and shook her head, “Of course. Go and fetch it.” As soon as he was gone, she picked up the little parcel from the small box that she had hidden it in and waited for him to return. She gave her reflection another quick look. The maroon velvet suited her coloring, and the cut of the dress suited her figure.

“I think that is my favorite of your dresses,” Eomer said gently, returning with the cloak folded over his arm, and digging around in one of his drawers, “Do you know where I put the pins for this?”

“It would be easier if you had someone to mind these things for you,” she teased in reply, and then cleared her throat, drawing his attention to the velvet bundle in her hands, “I have not given you any gifts that would befit your status, and I should like to remedy that.”

The slow smile crept over his lips as he accepted the offering and unfolded the fabric. There in the palm of his hand were two cloak pins, intricately made in the images of two horse heads mirroring each other with the knotwork that seemed as indicative of the Riddermark as the animals they loved, “These are beautiful.”

Lothiriel smiled, taking the cloak from his arm and standing up on her toes as he stooped a little to help her wrap it about his shoulders. “Now hold still, or I will not be able to get these straight,” she said, picking up one pin, fastening it and then picking up the other. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two as she mentally measured the distance to ensure that they were level. She stepped back to look at them at a distance to inspect her work and nodded.

He ran a fingertip over one of the pins, smiling as he did, “Then I suppose I am a perfectly dreadful husband if I had not gotten you anything.”

“No,” she said, smiling at him, and wondering if he truly hadn’t. She would be a little disappointed, but then he had bought her so many things over the last few months that she could accept it all in the place of a single gift.

“Then I suppose I should return these to the jewelers?” Eomer asked, as if he was the cleverest man in the world, taking a small box from the purse on his belt, “I do not know that Lord Gimli’s folk would like that.”

Like an eager child, she hurried to him, bouncing a little as he held the box gingerly out of her reach, “Oh, let me see!”

“No, you said that I would not be dreadful if I had gotten you nothing, and I must take you at your word.”

“Do you want me to say that you would be so?”

He thought a moment, “No, indeed,” he deposited the box in her hands with a smirk, watching her open the box with excitement.

Placed carefully in the velvet were two emerald earrings, the size of her thumbprint. Her eyes widened, “Eomer!”

With a smile that dismissed whatever she was going to say, he spoke, “You are a queen, and should look every part one.” He plucked one out of its case and held it up to the light for a quick examination before he moved to carefully slip it into the hole in her pierced ear. He carefully turned her face by her chin, to let the light better catch the stone.

She slipped the other into her ear and stared at her reflection again, turning her head this way and that so that the jewels swung by her neck. She grinned up at him, “thank you.”

He kissed her brow before looking back at her, “Have you eaten enough?”

“I think so,” she admitted, “though I will eat at table so that there is no appearance of distaste.”

Skimming his fingertips over her cheek, he smiled before turning to the case that held his own crown. He settled it in place on his brow and picked a bit of lint from his collar before standing upright. “Am I presentable, do you think?”

“The most presentable,” she took his arm, a small, nervous tremor ran down her leg.

“Are you ready?” he asked, smiling reassuringly at her.

“I think so.”

“You will do marvelously.”

0x0x0

It was the custom that whatever lady was the highest rank in the city or settlement, usually the Lord’s wife could give a blessing in their language, and toast them all with mead. The people fell silent as Lothiriel had stood at the doors of the Hall with the drinking horn in her hands, and she wondered if they were waiting for her to make a mistake. She had been practicing the words over and over to the point that she was quite aware she was likely irritating Eomer with it. But this was the first chance that most of these people would have to see her, at a duty or otherwise, and she was deathly afraid of making some mistake.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke out in Rohirric, projecting as well as she could manage, “I call this blessing over our land; that this next year will be one of good peace, of good life, and of good, fertile earth!” She drained the horn, and felt a little too proud of herself, even as the crowd cheered, taking a moment to assure themselves that she had in fact managed to empty the horn.

Next came the swearing of oaths to Eomer King, a thing that seemed to be done every year, as if to remind the men of their charge, and Lothiriel did her best to stomach as much bread and water as she could manage to absorb the alcohol that she was required to drink. She had become rather used to drinking mead, but by the end of the oath pledging she did have the start of the warm tingling sensations that came with drunkenness, and she hastily drank more water, not wanting to make a fool of herself.

She was distinctly aware of the way that Eomer was looking at her as she tried to stave off the effects of the alcohol, and the gentle way he smiled at her, knowing what she was doing.

In truth, though he did not wish not admit it to her, Eomer was watching her to assure himself that she was not overwhelmed by it all, having decided that if she should need a moment of reprieve from the crowds, he would spirit her away as quickly as he was able to.

When the time came, they left the hall to mingle with the crowds in the square, and the open air was a bit of a relief as the Hall felt entirely too warm for all the bodies pressed inside of it. But a new set of nerves presented themselves to her as she walked through the people.

Lothiriel’s anxiety about the crowd at the festival would slowly dissolve in time as she became used to it. She was used to the crowded ballrooms of Gondor, but this felt different even from the crowd congregated in the hall. The open air made the celebratory atmosphere seem a bit wild somehow, and she did her best not to cling to Eomer’s arm as they walked through the crowds, though he seemed to sense her nervousness, and rested his hand over hers as she adapted to the loud closeness of the people.

It seemed that those with children had withdrawn for the evening by now, and the mead flowed rather freely. There was a quick jolt of fear of the intoxicated men even as they bowed to her, their faces beaming, but she managed her composure. She felt so childish suddenly, even as she smiled back and wished blessings on them.

Sensing the tightening of Lothiriel’s hand on his arm, Eomer guided her along to where there was dancing and carefully led her into a simple dance.

“I thought you did not dance,” Lothiriel teased him as he spun her under his arm.

“This I can manage,” he called back to her, his hand taking hers again. It was a simple dance, easier than the courtly ones he had been trying to learn, and still felt that he was failing at, that was little more than walking in a circle with some variations, and more room for improvisations of his part. Her trust in him seemed implicit as she followed his lead, and for a few minutes he forgot that anyone might take note of him, transfixed as he was by the easy way that she moved with him, “How are you faring?”

“Well, I think,” she admitted in a low voice, “It was simply rather a lot of people.”

“I know,” he smiled back, “But you are doing so well, love.”

She shot him a look, knowing that if she had started shoving people out of her way or kicked a small child, he would likely try to find an excuse for her behavior, “Is it always so crowded as this?”

“Usually,” he admitted with a small smile. After a moment, he decided to break off his secret concern for her, “If you should need to withdraw for some time, you have but to say.”

“I think I will be alright,” she smiled at him, more aware than he was of the eyes on them. No one could hear them, but they were being watched by a good number of people. Her cheek colored a little, trying to affect an air of unawareness, not wanting the people to think her bashful. She looked back up at Eomer, and his gentle smile, and tried to focus on that alone.

The music ended and with a curtsy, she edged away from the floor in favor of finding a drink to cut the nerves back a little. Waerhild caught her eye and held a cup up, offering her a drink, and Lothiriel made her way over to her friend, her hand holding Eomer’s as she went.

Customary greetings done, Lothiriel accepted the cup, leaning easily against Eomer. His arm had slipped over her shoulders, and she didn’t think anything of it. It felt natural.

“Is Eothain home with the babe?” Lothiriel teased.

“Oh, he is at some game or other, I think,” Waerhild laughed, “Lady Baldgwyn kindly offered to watch Eobrand for us.”

Lothiriel was working out a remark, but it died before she could finish it as Eowyn barged a little unsteadily into her and wrapped her arms around Lothiriel’s neck. She kissed her sister-in-law’s cheek.

“You did beautifully!” Eowyn praised.

“Oh, thank you,” Lothiriel said, meaning to ask in what way, but saw the way that Eowyn excitedly ran off again.

“I think she has been at the mead,” Eomer said, not in the least embarrassed, but more offering an explanation, as if one was needed.

“Is public drunkenness allowed?” Lothiriel asked, having never considered it before.

“During festivals all bets are off, so to speak,” Waerhild laughed, “As long as no one is hurt, no one minds too it all too terribly. Though, most that mind it do tend to leave early.”

Eomer whispered some pardon to Lothiriel, his hand squeezing her shoulder as he went to join his men in the drinking and gaming, with a reassuring look that she could disturb him if she needed it.

“I take it this is not the way that Midwinter is celebrated in Stoneland?” Waerhild asked, smiling and refilling Lothiriel’s cup. Their next conversation was broken up as people approached Lothiriel to bow and offer blessings to her, which she returned graciously, taking a few of them by the hand, when the impulse struck her.

“No,” she laughed back, “there are festivities, and the common folk might celebrate in this way, but I have not been to such things. I have only ever been to balls and feasts in the citadel for the night.”

“You never snuck out?” Waerhild asked, “I thought that was a rite of passage for rebellious princesses.”

“Perhaps, but I have never been particularly rebellious.”

“I do not believe that.” There was no harshness in her friend’s voice.

“Well…” Lothiriel smiled, “Some of the youths of the court did used to congregate in one of the unused rooms and drink ourselves quite silly. Thinking back, I do not envy the servants that had to clean up after us all.”

“Would you have been in terrible trouble if you were caught?”

“Most of us would have… Truly, I think that my uncle would have given me a scolding and told me to not be caught again,” she smiled at the memory of her uncle, “He forgave most everything I did. I think he had wanted a daughter, but unfortunately… he never was blessed with one.” She studied Waerhild, “What is your family like?”

“Rather normal, I suppose. I have a brother and a sister. We are all rather loud, I should admit.”

“What family is not loud?” Lothiriel teased, pausing to greet an older woman who bowed a little awkwardly, leaning on her cane. Lothiriel helped her back up with a hand on her shoulder and a smile. They drank a toast to the health of the King and the woman went back to her son and leaned on his arm.

“Do you grow up screaming at your brothers, then?” Waerhild asked, before she remembered that Lothiriel’s uncle had raised her. She had just said so, and she felt all the more stupid for it.

“Whenever I saw them,” Lothiriel smiled, “I always end up hitting the youngest son. We are too alike, save the fact that I am actually amusing, and he has nothing in his head but rocks.” She smiled at Waerhild’s chuckle, “My brothers at least like my husband well enough to not make any trouble for him.”

“My brother took quite a while to warm to Eothain,” Waerhild said, “For years he was thought that Eothain was only playing some joke on me, or else that he was only seeking to fulfill his desires. My father thought so, too.”

“How did he convince them otherwise?” A young man approached with some nervousness to pledge himself to Lothiriel’s protection, and offered a toast to her comfort, giving Waerhild some time to formulate an answer that might pass for satisfactory.

“It took some time. Eomer and Eothain were quite wild when they were young,” Waerhild said as soon as they were alone, and she smiled to herself at some memory, and recognized the inquisitive and eager look on the queen’s face. “One evening, Eothain asked me to walk with him, but I said that my father would never allow it. I do not know which of them came up with the idea, but I woke in the middle of the night to Eothain tapping on my window to ask for a kiss and if he might come to my house to break his fast. He was standing on Eomer’s shoulders. My father caught them, and Eothain fell. The sight of them scrambling away from my father,” she laughed, “Eothain had to jump on Eomer’s back because he had hurt his leg.”

“No!” Lothiriel put her hand up to cover her mouth as she laughed.

“And the next morning, Eothain came hobbling back with his leg bound up, leaning on a cane and bearing eggs for our table.”

“What did your father say?”

“That he could come in the house if he was willing to pay the price of his other leg,” Waerhild laughed, “but I convinced my father to let me feed him through the window.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen. We married two years later,” she looked about them, her smile widening, “Have you tried these pies?” she asked leading Lothiriel over to a small vender’s stand. The old man bowed deeply and offered them the best looking of the hand pies he had left and told Lothiriel in halting Westron that she was a blessing to the Kingdom. Lothiriel thought that she could become quite used to this sort of reverence, if she was allowed to.

They fell into giggling and speaking to each other as if they had been friends for years. A few of the people came up to them from time to time, curtsying or bowing and making polite introductions, but there was a look of intrigued awe as they gazed at her.

It occurred to her that only the oldest among the people remembered ever having a queen at all. Theoden King’s wife had died before he had taken the throne. The last Queen, Morwen Steelsheen, had been Gondorian as well, and she was aware that there were some who had not been particularly fond of her, thinking that she favored the country of her birth more than the one that she had taken upon being crowned. Thus far she had been so worried over making a good impression, and it seemed that she had succeeded in that at least.

Waerhild left her side to let her speak with a few of the wives of the city, who all seemed rather interested in the Queen, in the open way that seemed commonplace to her now, even if she still fought against some measure of discomfort at the forthrightness of it.

Through the evening, she tried to find Eowyn, and would catch glimpses of her as she spoke with some of the other ladies of the court, laughing and talking with them with ease, if a little exuberantly. There seemed to be no fault in the fact that everyone seemed to be drinking more than they normally would have, and that there were open displays of affection. A few younger couples had slipped into alley and stables, or any shadowy place together, and no one took notice, too preoccupied where they with their own amusements.

Lothiriel watched this all with some curiosity and interest. She wondered if she would be so shy if she had grown up here, or if it was her nature.

With careful steps on wobbling legs, she finally made her way over to Eomer, and standing by him, she smiled, “Are you winning?”

“No, I have lost everything. We shall have to go into the country and start a farm,” Eomer smiled back, taking her hand and kissing it.

“That is well, though I will bring all of my clothes with me,” she teased, sitting on his knee without thought. She was tired but was not yet willing to leave. She knew it was better to let him tell her when it was appropriate for them to retire, as she had no idea whether they were meant to stay awake as long as the fires burned, or if they were allowed to leave when they pleased. She rested her head against his shoulder, watching the dice rolls with a smile.

Eomer was a little surprised by her actions but did not openly show it. His proper wife was sitting on his lap in public view and clearly not thinking of it beyond that she was comfortable in his keeping.

Over her head, he did notice a few of the elders of the city, Lord Fulgar among them, looking at her with thinly veiled disgust, muttering to each other that this is what came from making one so young a queen, but there were more faces that seemed to find the gesture as sweet as he did. Perhaps they should retire soon, as Lothiriel looked as if she would fall happily into bed, fully dressed and sleep without complaint of being taken from the party, though who knew what someone might do when they had been drinking.

He would speak to Fulgar and make it clear that he would hear no criticism of his wife, and that the old man would do well to keep his thoughts to himself and off of his face.

Having lost a roll to a farmer who had come to visit family for the holiday, Eomer paid his debt, and though Lothiriel was still learning the language, she had the impression that he had paid too much. Perhaps they would have to be farmers after all, if Eomer was as generous as she thought. She should have chided him over the matter, but it was only a few coins to them, and it could mean so much more than that to this man.

Lothiriel was pulled out of her quiet state by Eowyn’s hand on hers, dragging her along and proclaiming that she simply had to dance, and that she would take no protest to the contrary. The mead had taken its effects, even if she hadn’t fully realized it until she had sat down.

It was a circle dance, a simple sort of thing that if not for the drunken silliness that had fallen over the crowd would have been easily done, but a few of the dancers kept changing the direction before it was time, leading to an amusing spectacle as people tried to correct their movements without any warning, some tripping over their own feet, or running into the person next to them. By the end of it, Lothiriel had been reduced to giggles, leaning on Eowyn and trying to make her way from the lopsided tangle of bodies, clapping her hands as the others in the circle did.

Eowyn bought her something to eat which was little more than two slices of bread with cheese melted between them, but in her current state of jovial intoxication, she thought that it was the best thing that she had ever eaten in her entire life.

She heard singing and moved toward the sound of men’s voices, and pounding fists done to hold the melody in time, wanting to listen. The song sounded old and important in some way, and though she could not quite make out all of the words in her hazy state, she had the idea of the song. There was a weight to it, even as it seemed to be a simple song about a young man defending his farm from money lenders. What surprised her most was that Eomer had joined in the singing, his deep voice pouring the story out with care.

Standing and listening, she picked out Eomer’s voice with some effort, and smiled a little at it, having never heard him sing at all. His voice was deep and rich, not the best that she had ever heard, but beautiful in its own way.

He looked back at her a little startled when the singing had been finished, Lothiriel clapped with the others about her, “What is it, lady wife?”

“You have a good voice, my lord,” she beamed at him, sitting at his side, “I wish that I had known, for I would have made you sing more regularly. My lute goes often unaccompanied, and I will be sure to remedy that in future!”

“There is nothing to think of in it,” Eomer said, distinctly aware of the attention that his wife’s interest brough on him, “Songs are how we tell our stories, and all men of the Mark sing.”

“And many of them dance,” she teased, taking his arm, and leaning her head against his shoulder, “I am fortunate in such a wonderful husband!”

“Hush now you,” he said, his voice softening at the glint in her wide eyes.

“Never!”

He chuckled and kissed her brow, leading her along by her hand to sit by the log fire. Pulling the side of his cloak around her shoulder, she had cast hers off early and thrown it into her Solar, he held her close, counting his blessings.

His sister was running half-wild through the square, encouraged by the praises the people heaped on her as she went. It seemed that every soul wanted to have a drink with the Wraith Slayer, and she would not begrudge them the honor, even if she would regret it in the morning.

Lothiriel rested her back against his chest, her head lolling a little, but resting against his shoulder, a smile plastered over her face.

“Have you enjoyed yourself, love?” Eomer murmured against her ear, and in answer received an eager nod.

A few hairs had separated from her braids and stick about her head in clear and open rebellion of her earlier desire to present as the most refined queen that she could. He preferred her this way and were it not for the boisterous nature of the evening, he would think it right for her to be so proper. There was something to be said for letting the people see the woman behind that mask, he thought, and he had already been congratulated on having such a dear wife by the swarms of common folk who had come, a little nervously, to speak to him. To most that saw her, she was a young, and happy woman with an enjoyment of fun, rather than the stiff and distant woman that they had expected her to be.

He kissed the top of her head and smiled at her as she peered up at him.

She traced her fingers over his cheek, with a warm smile, her eyes drooping a little wearily.

They would withdraw soon, he knew, but he wanted to savor this moment just a little longer. The mead and the heady atmosphere of the evening had affected him as well, but he had been used to such revelries and so was better adapted to them than Lothiriel was.

When they finally did leave the festivities, Eomer helped his wife undress with stumbling fingers, he decided that he did like this dress best, the silk cord that bound it closed in the back felt good between his fingers, and as they helped each other undress, they fell into a few sloppy kisses broken by laughter.

They slept together, cuddled close and happy.

0x0x0

In the morning, everyone but Lothiriel would have readily accepted death over the torment of their dehydration and nausea, and though he loved her, Eomer was a little irritated by her good spirits. He burrowed deeper into the bed, holding a pillow over his head and slept until noon.

She had awoken with a tangled mess in the form of her hair as both she and Eomer had forgotten to braid it up the night before. She sat, combing her own hair, not wanting to rouse anyone before their time. She poured Eomer some water and left him to sleep it off. She wondered how badly off Eowyn was, and decided against checking on her, certain that her sister-in-law would kill her for the trouble.

The square was no worse for wear, though the tables and benches sat still, one of the few testaments to the festivities besides the garlands and the smoldering fires. She sat quietly behind a pillar so as to not be seen, watching as one by one people left a house or other and made their ways back to their own beds. It fascinated her more than was likely proper, she knew, but the openness of that sort of behavior was a thing that she was still trying to make sense of in her own mind.

She noted with some interest that Heohild was leaving the stables, not in any particular hurry, but looking rather tired. One of the stable hands, Eoldgrud hurried after her, and embraced her openly, kissing her and speaking to her.

Lothiriel peered from her hiding place with a small smile as her maid started up toward the Hall, likely to check that Her Grace did not need anything. As soon as she saw Lothiriel, her face fell a little and she blushed.

“Your Grace,” Heohild curtsied quickly, and looked as if she was going to try to come up with some explanation or other.

“You had a pleasant evening, it seems,” Lothiriel teased, “Might you see if anyone is up that could make some coffee?”

Heohild smiled, “If no one is awake, I shall brew it myself.”

“Thank you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Faramir read the letter with a deep sense of relief, settling back at the table, only having read that the matter was resolved better than he would have hoped. His cousin could be a willful thing even behind her shy façade and had been concerned on multiple fronts. His greatest concern was that if there had indeed been some infidelity that Lothiriel would lose her temper and in doing so would lead to a dissolution of her marriage, and thus create diplomatic chaos. That chaos would not bode well, as if King Elessar’s dream of a reunited kingdom was to be achieved it could only be done with the help of the Rohirrim. Of course, there was the matter of Lothiriel’s honor in the matter, but if she had lost her temper, beyond what it seemed she had, Faramir could easily see her writing to every friend she had in Gondor to turn their sentiments against Eomer King and his men.

The matter of her honor should have been the only thought he had on the incident, but it would have all been more complicated if it had been as she had written. If Eomer King had thought to carry on some public affair, as his wife and queen, Lothiriel should have for the sake of the alliance held her tongue and suffered it with dignity. But Faramir would never be able to face his little cousin again if he had told her to do, and he would not have. His own rage had in truth come from the fact that she might be at all mistreated, but it would be much easier to defend any action he would have taken if he had been able to argue the matter from a political stance.

He skimmed through the remainder of the letter, smiling a little at the assurance that they Royal Couple was very much in love and Eowyn’s vexation at their open tenderness. He frowned a little, trying to sort out the strange tilt to the words referring to Lothiriel’s affections for her husband in private, and tried to decide what his wife was trying to say by that. If Eomer and Lothiriel were affectionate in private, how could she know? He could hardly imagine either of them openly boasting of any intimacy, least of all to Eowyn, but he would ask her about it when she returned.

Being in Edoras would indeed do her good, he knew. Eowyn was doing better in their court than he had expected and had made some headway, but he knew, too, that she was weary of the courtly manners and social games that were expected of her by nature of her station.

He stared at the letter, and reread the paragraph, trying to make sense of it. His wife was bringing her brother’s former mistress back to the Citadel with her. Her explanation of their friendship seemed sound, but there was something in the simplicity of it that struck him. Eowyn was not as lengthy in her speech as some ladies he knew, but it still seemed strange to him. He knew it would not do to tell her to leave Leowella where she had been found and would only lead to an argument whenever they met again. It would, in truth, be simpler to just do as she bid him, and make the arrangements.

With a groan, he went to ask King Elessar for the permission to admit a companion for Lady Eowyn, trying to work out the best words to use for such a request.

He found the King in the Garden with Queen Arwen. The sat in quiet reflection, his hand resting on her small belly.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesties,” Faramir bowed, “By your leave, there is a small matter that I would discuss with you.”

“Political or personal?” Queen Arwen asked, amused by his fidgeting. Even in her amusement, her low, dulcet voice rang out so beautifully.

“A little of both, I suppose,” Faramir smiled, “My lady wife would like permission to bring one of her country women back as a companion.”

“Of course,” Elessar said, wondering why on earth he was being consulted on this matter.

“She is a foreign citizen my lord and will need to be publicly confirmed as a resident for the duration of her stay, sire.”

Elessar let out a breath, wishing he could put all of his irritation into the air as it left him, “I will do when she is presented to the court. Will you be able to find chambers for her use?”

“There is an available suite near The Steward’s Chambers,” Arwen said helpfully.

“Indeed, by your leave, I will have the rooms prepared.”

Elessar nodded, dismissing him outright, wanting to return to his moment of leisure, and not be bothered by his steward’s constant need to do everything by the book.

0x0x0

“I suppose that will teach me to never again do a good turn for anyone,” Lady Baldgwyn teased in a monotone voice, as if she truly was upset, “The once that I offer to watch a babe, and I miss Eomer dancing.”

“It truly is your own fault, so you needn’t bully me,” Waerhild retorted.

“If I had known that our good king meant to dance, I would never have offered to take care of Eobrand,” Baldgwyn said, clearly aware of the absurdity of her words, as she bounced the child on her knee now.

“Take a care, my lady, or I shall have to tell my lord husband that you are speaking so callously of his godson,” Lothiriel smirked.

“I suppose that would take precedence over telling my husband?” Waerhild asked.

“Of course, why, Lady Baldgwyn can hardly box Eomer King’s ears, and I do not think that she would be so dissuaded from doing so to Sir Eothain.”

“If my lord king tests me, we shall yet see,” Baldgwyn replied.

“Speak more quietly, or you shall summon him,” Lothiriel teased.

“I do not know that I have heard of a King ever coming into the Queen’s Solar without express invitation,” Eowyn said thoughtfully, “so you imagine my surprise that he was in here at all.”

“He invited himself,” Lothiriel said, “though he did ask permission to sit with me.” She gave Eowyn a look that told her there was more to it than that, but that she did not want to tell it all now.

“Well, as long as he asked,” Eowyn smirked.

“How much longer are you staying, my lady?” Waerhild asked, looking up from the smock she was stitching for Eobrand. He was growing fast, and soon few enough of his clothes would fit him.

“I must start for home in a few days,” Eowyn said with a smile, “I am taking Lady Leowella with me as my companion.”

Baldgwyn sucked her teeth, diverting her attention back to the babe in her arms.

The four women were alone, the others having stayed in with their children, not wanting to take the weather if they could have reason to avoid it. There was an easy comfort to the company, and Lothiriel was almost glad of the small numbers, for they were able to do their work in her sitting room rather than trying to get a fire started in the Solar and warming the space enough to bear.

It had not been a terrible amount of snow, but it was that dull period between Midwinter and full set of cold in January. It seemed that the city was more subdued now, and Lothiriel had never before considered what it would be like to be snowed into her house, though everyone told her that the chances of that were slim.

“I think she will do well in Minas Tirith,” Lothiriel said, sweetly.

“Indeed,” Baldgwyn said, carefully, biting down on the rest of the thought.

“Will you be sorry to see her leave?” Waerhild asked, politely.

Lothiriel looked at Waerhild, indulgent grievance painted over her face, “I wish her all the best.”

“And I will be pleased to sleep in my own bed,” Eowyn admitted, “where I might finally be able to sleep well.”

“Is the bed not comfortable?” Lothiriel asked, having only slept in it the once, when she had taken her seclusion, and not been able to find any fault in it.

“It is perfectly serviceable. The trouble is the wall at the head of the bed.”

Lothiriel’s head tilted a little.

“It is not as thick as you seem to think it is,” Eowyn smirked.

The queen blushed, staring at her knitting as if it was in fact the most fascinating thing that she had ever seen in her life, and as though she could not part her gaze from it for even a moment, or she would make some mistake.

Eowyn laughed, “I do not mean to make you feel so shameful as that, and would not have any complaint, were you not married to my brother.” She glanced at Waerhild who gave her a look of disappointment at saying anything about it at all, before looking back to her work, shaking her head and smiling to herself.

“I will try to be more considerate,” Lothiriel said, not entirely able to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, do not let me be a bother,” Eowyn replied, “I should hate to cause any sort of discord in your marriage when you consider the cause for my visit in the first place. Just bear in mind you might be forced to come and visit Ithilien and I might be of a mind to return the favor.”

“You mustn’t. I think that Eomer would die of embarrassment, if you did that!”

“It will serve him right, then,” Baldgwyn somehow did not seem embarrassed by any of this, and Lothiriel wondered what sort of mischief she had witnessed in Eomer’s youth to be so certain that he deserved such a fate.

0x0x0

Eomer trailed his lips down the side of Lothiriel’s neck, looking up as she nudged him back with a small sound of confusion.

“Your sister mentioned earlier that she can hear us,” she whispered, nervously, rolling over.

“She ought to, we speak to her every day,” Eomer said as if he had no concept of what it was that she was saying to him.

Lothiriel narrowed her eyes a little, “Might we not simply wait a week until she is gone?”

“We could…”

“Why do I feel as though you are going to offer an alternative?”

He smirked at her, “We do have quite a few rooms at our disposal.”

“I am far too comfortable to move, so you will simply have to wait.” Lothiriel said, a pert smile forming on her lips.

He groaned, irritably, but with no real malice behind it, refusing to look at her as she nestled against him.

“Are you quite disappointed?”

“I shall never recover from it,” he smiled at her, running his hand over her back.

She giggled, resting her cheek against his chest, “I saw Heohild leaving the stables after the _Géola_ festivities. In the morning,” she said with a significant look.

“Was she trying to run away, then?”

“No!” she swatted his chest lightly, “She was with one of the men!”

“He is her sweetheart, is he not?”

“Yes, but… it was in the morning!”

“Aye?”

“Then they slept there!”

“Or did not sleep.”

“Be serious!”

“I am!” Eomer chuckled at her shock, “It is no business of ours what others do together.”

“No,” she said, not able to think of an argument for why this was so strange to her, even if she had managed to pretend it was not, and turn her interest into some piece of courtly gossip that she had no interest of telling anyone else, “I only thought…”

Eomer shifted a little to look at her straight on, “We do not put so much stock in maidenheads here, love.”

Lothiriel’s eyes widened and then narrowed, “You make it sound vulgar.”

“I do not mean to,” he said, his tone softening, “You do not think that I had waited until marriage, nor did you expect that your brothers or cousins had?”

“No.”

“Then who do you imagine we have all been with? I will grant you that some men prefer their own sex, do not look so aghast, love, I do not. By your logic, all men should simply have been with other men.”

“I am not so stupid as that. I know that there are… women that could be paid for their services, or other…” she looked at him a moment, “I can hardly imagine.”

He smiled at her, “Barmaids and farmer’s daughters?”

Lothiriel stared at him for a moment, and unasked question on her face.

Staring up overhead, he wondered if she had considered the possibilities of every woman he had ever been with. Should he have mentioned that there were ladies in the court who had enjoyed his affections? It was not so much of a concern as they were all of them married now, or else had moved on. Though he had thought that Leowella had moved on... “I am of the opinion that people will do as they will, and as long as there are no complaints of violence, it is not our business.”

“Then… are families not…” she tried to think of how to ask the question, “I would think that some young women have brothers and fathers that would be angry over such behavior.”

“There may be, I know that when Eowyn had a sweetheart I did keep a close eye on them to ensure that he was not toying with her affections.”

That raised a whole other question that Lothiriel had never considered, but if Eomer said that it was not their concern what others did, should she bother to ask after Eowyn’s past relationships? She could barely ask Eomer after his former lovers.

“Darling mine,” Eomer said in a low voice, cupping her cheek, “I do not think such things are worth the thought that you want to give it.”

“I only thought it amusing,” she muttered, “I did not mean to tell you some piece of gossip and then receive a lecture.”

His face softened a little, “I do not mean to lecture you. When next you tell me of some courtly gossip, I will do my best to respond with awe and giggles and will then beg you to go on!”

Lothiriel pinched his shoulder, doing her best to look annoyed by his teasing.

“Oh, my dear wife, tell me how scandalous it is that young people might find each other attractive, and act on that! I cannot stand to think such things would ever happen!” he tried to sound dramatic but could not stop himself laughing.

“Fine, then, see if I confide in you ever again!” she made a face at him.

He stopped her from rolling away from him, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close, “How shall I live without gossip? You must not threaten me with such lack of knowledge of the personal goings on of my court,” he teased against her shoulder.

“You are incorrigible!”

“Indeed,” he smiled at her, “and you still love me, so I can hardly guess what that should be meant with regards you.”

She thought a moment, “that perhaps I like lost causes.”

“They do need the most help, so I will gladly accept your attentions.”

Lothiriel traced her fingers over his cheek, “I will certainly do everything in my power to make you acceptable.”

“I appreciate that.”

0x0x0

Eomer smiled at his sister as they sat quietly together.

“What is it?” Eowyn asked with the beleaguered air of a sibling that knew that she was going to be treated to some level of stupidity or teasing.

“I only hope that you are comfortable here.”

Her eyes narrowed a little, “Quite comfortable, though when next I come, I should send word and see if our house could be made ready for my use.”

“Oh, there is no purpose in that. My house is ever at your service, dear sister.”

“Then you have not spoken to your wife?”

“I have spoken to her quite frequently and have no idea what she should tell me that would make me want you to stay elsewhere. Have you two quarreled in some way?”

She knew her brother well and had never been of a disposition to sit quietly in the face of his affected ignorance. He always thought that he was so clever, but there was always a slight crinkling about his eyes whenever he decided to go about these games. “Perhaps if you both were able to be quiet in the night, I would not feel such a need?”

“Oh, have I been snoring again?”

“If that is what you will call your passions, then all the better for it, as I have no desire to call it anything else.”

Eomer affected a look of surprise, “Why, I should have thought you would mention such a thing to me, if you were so discomforted by any sound, rather than telling my wife so.”

“You are an oaf, you know that?”

He laughed, “Lothiriel is rather self-conscious is all. I do not think that she needs to be guilted over her natural behavior.”

“I had no intention of guilting her.”

“I know, but as I said, she is so afraid of anyone thinking her wanton,” he chuckled.

“Please do not make me consider any further your marital relations,” Eowyn smacked her brother’s arm, “And I will not be made to feel guilty because I speak to her as a woman.”

Eomer smiled warmly at his little sister and her temper. He waved a dismissive hand, “I find the whole thing amusing.”

“Of course, you do,” Eowyn crossed her arms, “Idiot.”

“In truth I meant to ask you for advice on a matter,” Eomer said carefully, trying to hold on to the mirth that he had been able to achieve by irritating his sister, “I think that I should speak to Lord Fulgar on the manner of his opinions of Lothiriel.”

“Has he spoken against her?” Eowyn asked.

“Not that I have heard, but he has mentioned to me privately that there are some that have done.”

“Who?”

“He has not said, which I think should be taken as an inference that he is of that opinion.”

“Fulgar is an ornery git, we have always known that, but he is also loyal. I doubt he would actively go against your wife,” Eowyn said, not wanting to admit that she had a soft spot for the cranky old man, even as they both knew it. He had always given them sweets when they were children and had done his best to look after Eowyn when their uncle had not been in his right mind. “I thought he had approved of the marriage?”

“After the first round of debates, he did.”

Eowyn’s head tilted a little, “Debate?”

“Three of my council members were initially against a foreign marriage, not being entirely agreeable to being bound to Stoneland, but they eventually were convinced into agreement.”

“What three?”

“Fulgar, Almod and Dunthain.”

“Fulgar and Almod agreed on something?” Eowyn laughed.

“Yes, Almod changed sides first,” Eomer smirked, thinking for a moment, “I only think of taking issue because Fulgar seemed irritated by Lothiriel’s lack of inhibition at _Géola._ ”

“He is one for propriety,” Eowyn said, almost defensive, “I would understand if you wanted to speak to him.”

“Well, thanks be for that!” Eomer said, sardonically.

“Enough of your lip,” Eowyn snapped, “You have asked my advice.”

He nodded and gave her an appeasing look, “Should I speak to him separately, or should I speak to the council together.”

“The latter, I think,” Eowyn said, “It would not be seen as a personal attack.”

“Would it not indeed seem as if I was engaging in a public shaming?”

“Not if you simply frame it around the fact that you are aware that there are some in the country that refuse to accept that the marriage is more than politics. If you speak from a place of defending Lothiriel’s honor and reputation in a broader sense, it would then, go further toward your goal, I think, and it would force the council to hear your opinions.”

“As if there is any doubt of my feelings?”

“True, but from a political stance, it would be an actual statement that could not be ignored.”

Eomer smiled, feeling far too proud of his sister, “I do not doubt that you have been quite helpful to Faramir.”

She looked at him, perplexed, “I try to stay out of his work as much as I can.” She thought a moment, “I do not think that Almod dislikes your wife in the way that you think. From what I have heard, it seems that he does find her involvement and interest in governance to be beneficial to the country,” she smirked, “save the times that she requires your attention at inopportune times.”

Chuckling, Eomer ran a hand over his face, “Those matters are really rather important.”

“I should think that producing an heir would be of the utmost importance,” Eowyn’s smile widened, and she shook her head a little, “I am happy for you, I truly am. And I am happy for Lothiriel. I should simply like to avoid hearing how happy you both are.”

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Eomer went on, “I should have listened to you, as I think if I had done, a good amount of trouble could have been avoided.”

“You clearly should always head my words,” Eowyn said, far too seriously, “but which incident are you referring to?”

“You mentioned that Lothiriel might have been nervous about our marriage, and I should have listened,” Eomer said, a little rueful, “though it seems that it all worked out in the end.”

“Did you make more mistakes than I know, dear brother?”

“Undoubtedly,” he grinned back, “I was perhaps too familiar, in an attempt to ensure Lothiriel’s comfort, and in a hope to have her like me better.”

“There are worse things you could have done,” she replied with a smile, “but as you say, it has been resolved beyond what any of us could have hoped.”

“I am not so great a fool as you would think!”

“You will forgive me if I take my twenty-five years of experiences in argument against your point.”

Eomer tried to be offended by her words but could not quite manage it.

0x0x0

Sitting through the council meeting, Eomer paid the appropriate amount of attention, even as he tried to work through the statement that he meant to make. He had the general sense of it in his mind, but even as he thought it through, other words added themselves to it, or removed themselves.

He looked through the papers in front of him, nodding his understanding, or asking for clarification, or for different solutions to the issues that he was being presented with. The meeting had gone smoothly, and he was relieved that there was no squabbling or pointed debates occurring.

When the issues had been resolved to his satisfaction, Eomer stopped his lords and marshals from withdrawing. “There is one matter that I want to address to you all, if there is no restraint on your time,” he said in a stern voice, and watched the men all shift back into their seats, “It has come to my attention recently that there are some in this country who disapprove of my marriage, and more pointedly, of my lady wife. I would to be perfectly clear on this matter. I will not tolerate any sort of aspersion being cast on Lothiriel Queen.”

He looked over the assembled men, carefully, not letting his gaze linger on anyone for a longer moment than any other and noticed nothing more than a bland level of interest in every face that looked back at him, though there was a small furrow in one of the lord’s brows. Not Fulgar’s, though, it was Almod who slipped a little, but it looked more as if he might be confused as to why they were being addressed on a matter that was so clear and obvious.

Eomer nodded briefly, considering the matter handled nicely, and he rose to his feet, “Thank you all for your continued service. We will meet again in two days.” He moved to withdraw from the council chamber and go back to his study. In the corridor, he sensed someone behind him, and turned to face Lord Almod and his strangely anxious face.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Almod bowed low, “I only meant to ask if there had been some cause to your issuing such a statement of support.”

“Do I need a reason to state my support for my wife?” Eomer asked.

“Of course not, sire. I only… there are rumors of some ingrates who have spoken ill of Her Grace.”

Eomer maintained his grim and irritable countenance, staring at the councilor as if he was waiting impatiently for him to get to the point.

After a moment of hesitation, Almod went on, “I would offer my service to any investigation that you would deem appropriate, were these rumors to be founded.”

“I appreciate that,” Eomer nodded, “If it becomes necessary, I will remember your offer. Now, if you will excuse me.” He didn’t wait for affirmation, not needing to. He was King of the Mark and did not need to stand by waiting for old men to decide whether or not they had been honored enough by his attention. Though he did appreciate that Almod seemed to take such an interest in the matter and had thought to offer himself to any service needed on the matter.

The stupid rumors of displeasure would be proven unfounded, or else those that grumbled would lose interest in their anger. Some people disliked new things and would need more time to find that their concerns were baseless and find something else to be angry over. When they had a child, he was certain they would be silenced, especially if that child was a son. He hated having to think about it in that way, knowing that if they had a daughter, he would spoil her beyond all good sense, the same way he would a son. Any child would be a blessing, even if he was happy to have time to build his relationship with Lothiriel before they were so blessed.

He shook the thoughts from his mind, looking back over his papers, knowing that the matters of governance demanded immediate attention, even if they were not as pressing as they seemed to him. If Lothiriel had come to him and offered him a distraction, he would have happily taken up her offer, but these letters required answers before he could go to dress for the evening.

It was Eowyn’s last night with them, and he would miss her when she had left, but hoped that with her leaving, he would be able to take her absence as a silent blessing in the fact that he would be able to resume his marital relations.

His statements to his sister had been meant in the teasing way that she had eventually taken them, but there was some truth in his request that any such issues should be brought to him rather than to Lothiriel. Even if Eowyn had not meant anything by broaching the subject, the effect was still there, a small notion of shame in the back of Lothiriel’s mind, and any inference that anyone else knew what it was they did together, or the fact that she enjoyed it, seemed to embarrass her.

Though she was becoming more and more comfortable in their marriage, and with him, he was aware of the fact that her learned assumptions of how she should behave were still there in her mind somewhere. In truth, no one else had likely assured her of how natural her own desires were but him. If it would not have been the most humiliating thing, he might have asked Eowyn to reiterate the point.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Eomer decided against mentioning again that there was no shame in it, thinking that it was better to leave the matter as it stood, and let Lothiriel absorb the truth of his words on her own. It was more important to him that she knew that he was hers alone, and he had been able to succeed in making that point, at least.

Having gone through the letters and reports to an acceptable degree, Eomer rose and left his study to look in on Lothiriel and see if she would be angry with him for having taken so long to come and prepare for dinner. He had only seen her lose her temper once and was not particularly of the mind to do so again.

Crossing the threshold into his chambers, he found Eowyn sitting near Lothiriel’s desk, and leaning forward to speak to her in hushed tones. Lothiriel’s face was the mix of discomfort and polite interest that screamed for the conversation to end as quickly as possible. He pushed aside his own curiosity over what they were discussing, in favor of saving Lothiriel from her discomfort. “For once I have had the foresight to come and dress for the evening meal before you have,” he chuckled, at the startled look that the ladies gave him. He should have knocked, but he had not startled Lothiriel by entering their rooms for some time and he had forgotten that he had once promised to do so.

“Time must have gotten away from us,” Lothiriel smiled sweetly, her relief was hidden in her face, but he could just see it.

“I will leave you to your dressing,” Eowyn stood, squeezing Lothiriel’s shoulder.

“If you see Heohild would you send her along? I cannot imagine what has been detaining her.”

Once they were alone, Lothiriel sunk against the back of her chair, staring at Eomer with a look of contained irritation was firmly in place on her features.

“Are you well, love?” Eomer smile gently, coming over to kiss her.

“I would be if not go a completely inappropriate conversation!” she pursed her lips at him, “Did you big your sister speak to me?”

“No,” he frowned, knowing it was better not to mention that he had considered it, but still he found it far more amusing, “What did she speak to you about that has so displeased you?”

After giving him a long, vexed look, Lothiriel answered, “She seemed to want to be assured that I was no displeased in our… relations… and wanted to assure me that she had not meant to embarrass me in her teasing.”

“Well, it is nice of her to check on you.”

She stared at him, her head tilting a little, “Perhaps, but I do not know that it was entirely right that she should think to speak to me of such things. I would certainly never ask Lady Gadrien about her private life.”

“Whyever not?”

“It simply… is a… well it is a private matter, is it not?”

“Yes, but I thought that women found some level of amusement in sharing such talk,” Eomer smiled, going to sit by his wife, a new wave of interest taking him. He should not still have enjoyed the looks of mild horror that she gave him whenever he managed to have her even consider such thing, but there was something amusing about it.

“Some perhaps, but I have never willingly engaged in such conversations.”

“Of course not, that would be quite indelicate.”

At that moment, her features shifted to quiet understanding, “Why do you seek to vex me so?”

He chuckled, “I should likely not, but I cannot help but do so. You take on the most adorable look when you are in such a state.”

“Adorable, indeed,” Lothiriel muttered, standing up and going through to the dressing room, and deciding on a dress, “As I have no idea of where my maid is, might I ask your aid in dressing?”

Eomer had leaned against the doorjamb, watching her brow furrow as she did her best to turn her mind to other more “appropriate” matters, “You know well, my dear wife, that I will always help you undress when you need.”

Lothiriel’s eyes narrowed at him as she lay the velvet dress out on the bed, and began adjusting her veil, “Indeed, but recall that you would be needed to help me dress as well.”

“I will make no assurance of being able to help on that score,” Eomer smirked, his smile widened as she scoffed at him, “I am ever your servant, my dearest.”

0x0x0

Lothiriel watched as Eomer hugged his sister fiercely and noted the look of irritable amusement that flashed across Eowyn’s face and she rolled her eyes at him before looking at Lothiriel with a look of indulgent almost pity.

She hugged Lothiriel, “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to write to me,” she whispered against Lothiriel’s ear, “You are my sister, remember.”

“Thank you,” Lothiriel smiled, her hands smoothing over Eowyn’s arms with gently, “and I should, of course, offer the same courtesy.”

“Courtesy, indeed,” Eowyn scoffed before laughing, “You must come and visit us, when you are able.”

“We will,” Eomer smiled his hands resting against Lothiriel’s back and Eowyn’s shoulder, smiling a little as Eowyn shrugged him off and pushed him a little, staring at him as if he was the most foolish thing she had ever been forced to suffer. Without thought Eomer pushed her back.

They stood together, watching Eowyn ride away, and the Princess of Ithilien faded from Eomer’s seeing before Lothiriel lost sight of her. He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulling her close against him, and resting his chin on the top of her head. Her small hands held on to his forearms, but in the light way of a gesture rendered by absent minds. Holding her tight in his arms, he felt the true depth of his blessings, and of the quiet calm that his life had taken on.

He felt as if there was nothing in the world that they could not face if they had each other to lean on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support and response that I have gotten has really been amazing, and I can hardly believe how lucky I am to have such great readers!
> 
> I'm working on the next part of this story, and should have it up soon! 
> 
> I hope to see you all back here, soon!


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